


That Empty Feeling of Being Full

by deathofsanity



Category: NCIS
Genre: AU after about season 8, F/M, McGee is the Agent in Charge of his own team, McGee's team, McGiva - Freeform, Multiple original characters - Freeform, TAbby - Freeform, Tony and Abby make an appearance, Very happy about how it turned out, Which is when I began writing this story, Ziva's team, and they're married - Freeform, didn't really intend for McGee and Ziva to get together but that's just where the story wanted to go, i know it's kind of a different story than what we're used to, originally published on FF.net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathofsanity/pseuds/deathofsanity
Summary: All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on. But the price of letting go is having to embrace one's here and now. Can McGee do that before one of his own succumbs to a tragic end? AU from about season 8, McGee has his own team now, as does Ziva. Multiple OCs.
Relationships: Anthony DiNozzo/Abby Sciuto, Jimmy Palmer/Breena Slater, Ziva David/Timothy McGee
Kudos: 7





	1. Zombie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This story requires some explanation. As it turns out, I tend to like to write stories that people wouldn't chose to read at first glance; the supernatural genre, for one. Though, if you chose not to read this story, you will be missing out. This story is much the same. First of all, only three canon characters show up, in context anyway. Secondly, most of the cast of this story are of my own creation. I like them; however, you are entitled to your own opinion. If you haven't been deterred already, then I will give a few details that you need to know beforehand, and then we will get to the main feature.  
> The setting is about ten years into the future. McGee is the main character. He now has his own team, consisting of three new characters, and he sits in Gibbs' old desk. Ziva also has her own team, consisting of three new characters, one of which is added at the beginning of the story, and they are situated in the space that E.J.'s team resided, for however short a period. Now this is the sad part, but don't fret, by the end, I hope to work you through it; both Gibbs and Ducky have died years prior to the beginning of this story. Tony and Abby have moved on and moved away. Palmer is still around as the resident M.E.  
> Also, I named the chapters after songs which I think are appropriate. If you chose to listen to them while reading, it may enhance the experience, but it is not necessary.  
> This story is about learning how to let go of the past and embrace the here and now; for, really, what else do we really have.

Chapter One: Zombie

Zombie – The Cranberries

  
  


_You can't hold onto the past forever  
But the past can hold onto you as long as it wants to._

  
  


**McGee**

Tim McGee had a feeling that Ziva was about to lose it.

It was her third probie in a month. The director had recently decided that it was time for her to have a fourth person on her team and had been assigning them like wildfire. The first two had only lasted a week before being scared off—the second one, a former Marine, almost twice Ziva's size, had actually cried. But then again, Ziva had never been good with new people.

Tim sat at his desk with his hands behind his head, trying not to laugh as Ziva threatened the new kid with her letter opener. Angela de Luca—a.k.a. Angel—was not as good at holding in a snicker. She sat on the shelf beside him twirling a pencil between her fingers. Angel was tall, with long curly blonde hair, and had a thing about wearing pant suits. Ziva turned around and narrowed her eyes at Angel from where she stood by the windows. Without looking, Tim reached up and gave his Senior Field Agent a hard headslap.

"Sorry, Boss," she said, rubbing at the back of her head.

"What part of 'don't apologize' do you still not understand?" he said, giving her an exasperated look.

"Right. Won't happen again."

"You're damn straight. Don't you have paperwork to do?"

"Finished it last night." She scratched her nose with the tip of the pencil.

Tim narrowed his eyes. "I thought you went home before I did?"

"I did. Couldn't sleep."

"Uh huh." Tim turned to his computer, giving Ziva one last glance. She appeared to have calmed down slightly, the brand new addition to her team apparently having come to his senses and apologized for calling her ma'am. Poor kid. Looked like he was straight out of college.

After a minute, Tim turned back to Angel. "Hey," he said forcefully.

"Yeah, Boss?" she smiled.

"Go away."

She jumped up quickly and went back to her own desk—right where Tim used to sit and Tony before him. "Have you heard from Matt or Shauna?" Angel called.

Tim didn't look up. "They still have twenty minutes before the day starts."

"Sure, sure," she said, putting her feet up on the desk.

Tim glared at her until they fell back to the floor and her hands went to the keyboard. He sighed and ran his hand thought his hair. Even after eight years with Angel, she was still a pain in the ass. The higher up in the ranks she got, the more obnoxious she became. An ex-Sacramento cop, she joined NCIS for the guns and the babes—as in girl babes. At first, Tony thought it was hot, but he soon figured out that she was just more competition for him to deal with. Gibbs, of course, thought it was hilarious that she was basically a female version of Tony, and that was one of the reasons he assigned her to his team when Ziva got her promotion.

It was two years after Angel joined up that Gibbs took a bullet to the chest. It was nothing like the movies, there was no hail of gunfire, no slow-motion exchange of bullets, just some stupid kid who didn't know when to back down. He bled out very quickly—there was no time to say goodbye. That day had haunted Tim for years after the fact. It wasn't long after that that Ducky went, leaving Palmer with his title and a broken heart. At least he went peacefully.

A loud slap brought Tim out of his reverie. He looked up to see that Angel had wandered off near the elevators. She was trying to look hurt as Maxine Forrester, junior agent on Ziva's team, stalked over to her desk in the area on the other side of the wall behind Tim, where E. J. Barret's team used to reside, shaking her dark Navajo hair and angrily began slamming things around.

Ziva was nowhere to be found, thank God. The first and last time Angel had tried to hit on her had resulted in a broken rib and a bruised ego. Tim stood up and pointed at Angel and then to her desk. She bowed her head and lumbered back over.

Right at that moment, the elevator dinged and a tall woman with long red hair in a high ponytail and cowboy boots stepped out of the elevator. Sarah Winchester, Senior Field Agent on Ziva's team, and basically Scarlett O'Hara with a gun. She looked scary happy, as usual. She waved to Tim as he sat back down and went over to place her backpack on the ground and let her curls out of the band.

"Hey, Maxie. What's wrong?" she asked her coworker with that Texan twang of hers, when she saw Maxine seething in front of her computer.

"Angel," she growled, giving said agent a glare of death.

Angel, at least, had the common decency not to look up.

Tim rolled his eyes and focused back on his computer, when his phone rang. "McGee," he answered. Dispatch gave him a location. "We'll be right there."

Tim stood. "Dead Petty Officer at Rock Creek Park. Call Shauna and Matt. I'm not gonna wait long."

Angel was tripping over herself the second his phone hit the base. She pulled out her cell and hit speed dial, hightailing it to the elevator. Tim took his time, and went for the stairs instead. Ziva rushed past him with the new kid in tow, he had his head down and was looking sheepish.

 _Remind you of anyone?_ Said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Tony.

"Grab your gear!" he heard Ziva yell as he opened the door to the stairs, followed by shuffling and a loud "Umph!" likely as something was shoved into the probie's stomach. Maxine had clearly found a way to take out her anger about Angel.

Tim smiled as he descended. He wondered if this one could hack it better than his predecessors. Ziva had had the same team all eight years after she moved to Paris, and the director seemed to think that now would be a good idea to change it up. Tim was starting to think that Vance was just doing it for the kick of it. In a team of only women, every single one of the new additions had been men.

Poor, poor kid.

His team was already assembled beside a crime scene van. Angel and Matt Jericho were making a bet on how long Ziva's new Probie would make it before he cried: two hours or three hours. Matt was a former CIA operative who specialized in Afghanistan, that Tony added to the team after Gibbs passed. He was Pakistani, but a third generation American citizen raised in Brooklyn. He was the chameleon of the team and was great at undercover work, but was also very quiet and broody and bad a dealing with personal feelings, typically acting out of anger rather than dealing with problems through words.

Shauna St. Clair was grinning at them as she loaded their bags into the back of the van. She was from Arizona, and had dark brown hair and a fair complexion and hated the cold. She always complained about how she missed the desert, but Tim could tell that she liked her job. She'd joined the team almost three years ago, when Tony and Abby took their permanent vacation, and she was perpetually putting up with Angel's crap. She was always willing to learn, and that was why Tim liked her.

Tim crept up on them. "Save it for the ride home."

Shauna jumped and Angel grinned. "In the back, Probie!"

Matt rolled his eyes and climbed into the far side of the van followed by Angel and then Tim.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to let me sit up there just once," Shauna complained, crawling into the back.

"Yeah, but you'd feel really bad if it did."

  
  


The drive was uneventful. Angel and Matt bickered, as usual, and only a couple of bruises were acquired on Shauna's part when Matt had to stop short at a street light and once on a tight curve that he took too fast.

It gave Tim some time to drift off in thought. It was four years ago that Ziva requested her team be reassigned back to D.C. when she was given custody of her newly orphaned thirteen-year-old relative, Natanael—her cousin's child. She'd wanted him to have a stable life, and seeing as she was his only living relative, she figured D.C. would be the best place for him to grow up, where if he couldn't be with his family, he could at least be around her found family. Natanael didn't speak for three months after she brought him back, having witnessed his parents' deaths. He'd had problems, but the now seventeen-year-old was happy and prepping to go to college. He had more opportunities here than in Israel, and Ziva was happy for him. She loved him like her own, even though they had only met once before the tragedy.

It was three years before now, however, that the most unexpected thing had happened. Both Tony and Abby decided to go for someone their own age, and eloped in Vegas. Everyone was shocked when they came back with matching black diamond rings on their fingers and tattoos of each other's names. They just suddenly realized that they were exactly what the other needed. Someone who liked what they did, with equally spontaneous natures. Apparently, according to them, that was what love was. They were both nearing fifty and wanted something familiar. Then they went to Hawaii on their honeymoon and never left; they got themselves transferred to the NCIS office at Pearl Harbor, leaving Tim to take care of Angel and Matt as team leader.

Tim's went back to the road when he started to see cops with handheld stop signs and barricades. He showed his badge and rolled up to the new crime scene. They all got out of the truck and Tim strode to the yellow tape, leaving his team to get the equipment.

Palmer was already there. "Hey, Tim," he called, raising his hand as he got out of his own truck. He normally didn't come alone, but his assistant had recently quit and he was still looking for a replacement. "I'll just get the body and go. Ziva's got one on the other side of the park."

"Really?" Tim asked as they met by the crime scene tape.

"Yeah," Palmer held up the tape for Tim, but dropped it right in front of Angel's face. "Weird, huh?"

"Coincidence."

"But we don't believe in coincidences, do we, Boss?" Angel said, coming up behind them camera in hand.

"Nope."

He surveyed the scene; the victim was lying on the ground, curled inward on her left side. Her frizzy black braids were clogged with dirt and leaves. She had obviously been there a while. Her face and arms were also covered in grime and there were unusual-looking rips in the tight jeans that she wore, as well as the low cut top. Party clothes, but they looked like they had been worn for a couple of days before she died.

Angel took a few photographs from different angles and then Palmer turned the girl on her back. "She's way past rigor mortis," he said. He pulled out his liver probe. "More than a day, but less than a week. Might have been here the whole time, but nobody noticed her." He pointed at her neck, where two distinct purple handprints were visible. "Looks like she was strangled." He looked up at Tim. "How was she identified?"

"Local cop ran her prints with a handheld. Petty Officer Mary Stevenson, stationed at Norfold, administration. Cops said nothing else was disturbed."

"Good."

Matt and Shauna showed up as Palmer went to insert the probe. Palmer paused in his task. "What is it, Doctor?" Matt asked.

Palmer lifted the shirt completely off the victim's stomach and Shauna gasped. Right above her belly button, was a small cross carved into the flesh. Angel snapped another picture.

"Let me see that memory card," Tim said, holding out his hand to her. Angel gave it to him and he inserted it into his phone.

"What are you doing?" Shauna asked.

Tim was still trying to shake the feeling of dread that had come over him. "Asking Ziva if she has the same thing at her crime scene." He typed 'look familiar?' into the text box and hit sent just as Palmer pulled out the liver probe.

"Three days," he declared. "Give or take a couple of hours."

Tim nodded. "St. Clair."

"Yes," Shauna answered.

"Help the doctor with the burrito wrap and when you're done, start collecting evidence around here." He pointed to the area around the body. She nodded and ran off. "Matt,"

"Canvas the scene," he said, nodding his head.

"I want to know who's been here."

"Yes, Boss."

"Angel,"

"Sketch and take some more photos."

Tim nodded. "And then help Matt after you talk to the witnesses." He handed back her memory card.

"You got it, Bossman."

It was then that Tim's phone rang. Ziva. "Yeah?"

" _I think we have a problem."_

  
  



	2. Run Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief summarization of characters:
> 
> Ziva's team: Sarah Winchester (SFA) and Maxine Forrester became Ziva's team eight years ago when she took assignment in Paris. At the beginning of this story they got Johnathan Fitzpatrick as their new probie.
> 
> McGee's team: McGee became team leader three years ago when Tony and Abby left. His team includes Angel DeLuca (SFA,) Matt Jericho, and Shauna St. Clair (Probie) who has only been on the team for 3 years.

Chapter Two: Run Around

Run Around - Blues Traveler

  
  


_A mingling of conflicting emotions_   
_fear…anger_   
_love…disgust_   
_loss…grief_   
_These thoughts remind me of my past_   
_choices_   
_mistakes_   
_regrets_   
_and fill my mind with doubts._

  
  


  
  


**McGee**

Tim drove with Palmer to where Ziva and her team were investigating, not twenty minutes away. The scene was eerily similar; as he approached, Tim observed the position of the body: curled up in the fetal position, eyes closed. Granted, she had much lighter skin and hair than the other victim. Sarah was asking a question of Ziva, not realizing they had showed up.

"Shouldn't there be more bugs? It looks like she's been here a while."

Palmer spoke. "It's starting to get a bit cold to have too many, but, yes, I agree that there should be a bit more activity. He squatted by the body. "It does look like she's been here longer," he said to Tim. "Definitely more than five days. Liver probe won't work." He looked up at Ziva. "I'll have to have Bobby run some tests in the lab and let you know." He turned the victim on her back and lifted up her shirt, just on like the previous victim, there was a small cross-like incision.

"Dammit," Tim said.

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked.

Ziva answered. "It means we have a serial killer."

"A what?" came a shocked voice from behind Tim. He turned around and was unsurprised to see Ziva's newest team member standing there. His face had gone white as a sheet as he stared down at the body. He caught sight of the marks on her stomach, went paler, and ran off to a nearby tree where he promptly emptied the contents of his stomach.

Tim remembered doing the same thing at his first crime scene.

"Maxine," Ziva called behind her.

"Yeah," Max answered, running over from the other side of the clearing.

Ziva pointed, "Go make sure that Johnathan is okay."

When Maxine saw the state of her new probie, her face turned gentle. "Yeah, okay." They all watched her walk over, kneel down and place her hand on Johnathan's back where he was still hunched over.

That was Maxine, really badass, but still the sweetest, most caring person in the world.

He looked back to the body and sighed. He hated serial killers. He pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for Angel.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"We've got the same situation over here. Come pick me up whenever you get done. I'll send you the directions."

  
  


The investigation seemed to get off the ground a lot quicker with eight people working on it. It turned out that Ziva's new agent Johnathan was quite the computer whiz. He didn't go to a big school, just a local university in Maryland, but Tim was impressed by his skill. He was still in shock over the whole situation, but he was determined to do his job the best he could no matter the obstacles. He had some serious promise, and Tim could tell that Ziva saw it too in the way that she watched him zooming though the Navy records of their two victims.

At least, now Ziva's team would stop coming to him for the advanced computer stuff.

The first and most obvious connection was the Navy. Both Petty Officer Mary Stevenson and Ensign Carrol McKenzie, from the second crime scene, were stationed stateside at Norfolk and the Navy Yard in D.C. respectively. They were still working on getting more to connect the two.

At the moment, Johnathan was about to run a search of related murders in the surrounding states, while Angel used her 'people skills' to try and sweet talk Metro PD into telling her about any civilian cases that matched the MO. Shauna and Matt were down in Bobby's lab, helping him get through all the evidence. And Sarah and Maxine were in the field running any leads that were called out to them by the rest.

Tim and Ziva were coordinating, making sure all the information was shared and going through the notes of both crime scenes. They were comparing the pictures from the scenes when his phone began ringing. He snatched it from his desk, "Yeah, McGee."

Matt's voice sounded in his ear. "Got something."

Tim snapped the phone shut and stood, nodding for Ziva to follow him to the lab.

  
  


**Shauna**

Shauna looked over Bobby's shoulder in an attempt to get a feel for what he was doing with the sample of dirt that Palmer had brought up earlier. It was the last thing that he had to get started, the blood and tissue tests had already been done, which had taken the better part of four hours even with two extra sets of hands. Bobby stood up suddenly, knocking into her and sending her stumbling back.

He turned and smiled good-naturedly at her, and said in his surfer dude accent, "Watch out there, man. I'd hate to see you take a spill into my equipment."

She smiled back with a slight blush, she was kind of a clumsy person on a good day. She stepped back up behind him and watched him add some clear liquid to the test tube. The contents began to separate immediately. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I need to extract the chemicals in the soil so that I can tell you where it came from." He held the glass instrument up in front of her face. "See that film on top of the solvent?" Shauna nodded. "That's what I put in the mass spec, and from that I can hopefully get a location _other_ than Rock Creek Park."

"Oh," she looked past the test tube and back at his face. "Cool."

He smirked and turned back to the fume hood where he kept his chemicals. Bobby had long blonde hair that he usually kept in a low ponytail. He was very fond of wearing shorts, sandals, and t-shirts, but McGee having made him go home and change more that once had forced him to reconsider. He now wore tennis shoes and jeans, but was resistant in his old faded t-shirts, much to the boss's annoyance. McGee could be quite scary when he was defied, but thankfully, for the most part, Shauna was spared the headslaps, mainly because she wasn't the one who needed a constant attitude adjustment. Angel, on the other hand….

Matt came out of Bobby's inner office where he had been on the computer, taking a look at what about the marks on the abdomens of the two women could be significant. "Find anything?" Shauna asked him.

He pushed his pitch black hair out of his face. "Other than the obvious Christian symbolism, there's nothing that really sticks out." He walked like a tiger, silently, as if he was always ready to pounce. Apparently, being in the CIA did that to you; you always had to be aware of your surroundings. Shauna wished she had that kind of discipline. He didn't speak much, but when called upon, he could formulate a speech reminiscent of the Great Leaders™ of the past to get out of a bind.

"You two get anything yet?" Matt asked her, glancing over to what Bobby was working on.

"Still—"

The computer dinged and Bobby quickly placed his sample in the mass spectrometer's tower before coming over to check the results. He scrolled down the page. "They were drugged." He scrunched his eyebrows. "With the exact same drug. It matches down to the binding agent."

"What kind of drug?" Matt asked.

"Looks like they got hit by the roach."

"The what?" Shauna asked.

"La rocha, mind eraser, lunch money, Mexican valium."

Matt rolled his eyes, and turned to Shauna. "Rohypnol."

She nodded, "Oh…. That roach."

Bobby looked back to the computer screen. "It looks like a pretty unique formula. Maybe the guy makes it himself."

Shauna said, "Or he uses the same dealer."

Bobby nodded. "Good one, Prob-ay."

Shauna narrowed her eyes at him.

Matt pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Better let McGee know."

Minutes later, McGee stormed in followed by Ziva. She was quieter than Matt, and much more deadly, according to Sarah. McGee didn't look happy; clearly nothing helpful was being discovered upstairs. "Talk to me, Bobby."

"Right on, dude." Bobby went and grabbed the printout from his office. He handed it to McGee. "Looks like they both were drugged with la rocha. That's tough."

McGee nodded. Of course he knew what that meant. Shauna spoke up, determined not to look like an idiot. "It's possible that it came from the same dealer. It has the exact same chemical composition."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think so?"

She felt suddenly uncertain. "Yes?"

"Yes or no, St. Clair."

She straightened. "Then yes."

He nodded. "Good job." He then turned back to Bobby. "Anything else?"

Matt elbowed Shauna lightly in the side and winked as the forensic specialist went on to explain what he was doing with the soil samples. It was hard being the probie, especially with such a good agent like McGee, but she knew he wouldn't have put her on his team if he didn't see something in her. To be quite honest, some of the stories she had heard about Special Agent McGee in FLETC were the stuff of legend, and it just so happened that although some legends exaggerate, his did not. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she would get to work alongside him, much less for him.

When they first met, his name was enough to shock her into silence, but somehow she managed to impress him, for, at the end of the case she had assisted on, he requested her be placed on the MCRT. Some of the best news of her life. That was almost 3 years ago, and in that span of time, she managed to find what she had always been looking for. A family. Hell if she was ever going to tell Angel that though; she'd never hear the end of it for being so weirdly sentimental.

Another ding from the computer brought her out of her thoughts and Bobby sauntered back to his previous position. "Looks like we've got the time table from your victim Agent David."

She interrupted him, "I told you to call me Ziva, Bobby."

"Right on, Zeeva," he said, looking thought the data on the computer. Ziva smiled softly as she waited for her results. "Palmer was right. Five days, or more specifically, five days and three hours, according to the jelly inside her eye."

Shauna wrinkled her nose; she had been assisting down in autopsy when Doctor Palmer extracted the sample. She hadn't felt the urge to throw up down there in some time, but that particular sight nearly set her off. Matt had a smile on his face when he saw her reaction to the words and she attempted to glare at him, but he only smiled wider. She hadn't ever been very good at the trademark McGee glare; the look that intimidated suspects into confessing, the only thing really capable of shutting Angel up, and, oddly enough, the look that when given to Ziva, only made her laugh, almost like he wasn't doing it quite right either. Shauna knew that Ziva and McGee had been on the same team a long time ago, and figured that the look meant something more, but she had never had the courage to ask.

"Shauna!" McGee's voice broke through, startling her.

She looked at her boss with wide eyes. "Yes."

He started walking out of the room. "Come on."

  
  


Again, she was back in the infernal temporary housing office for the dead. Shauna followed her boss, Ziva, and Matt and went to stand next to the silver table Petty Officer Stevenson was currently resting on. "What do you got, Jimmy?" McGee asked. Only a select few people were allowed to call the doctor that.

Doctor Palmer looked up from the report he was in the process of writing. His face was grim. "They were held for about three to five days. Dehydration, malnutrition." He pointed to bruises around the victim's arms and neck. "They both have the same type of bruising."

"They were beaten," Ziva said.

The doctor nodded. "And they tried to defend themselves. No cuff marks around their wrists, so they weren't tied up. It also looks like they suffered from hypothermia. Now, it's fall, but it's still pretty warm during the day. At night, however…. They were in a place with no heat, if not outside."

McGee nodded, jaw tight. "Anything else?"

Doctor Palmer shook his head and went back to his report.

  
  


**McGee**

All they were getting was bad news. Tim sat behind his desk and put his head in his hands, ignoring the looks his agents were giving him, as if they were all waiting for him to explode. He knew it had only been half a day, but he had hoped that they would have gotten a little bit further by now, instead they were getting stonewalled by the LEOs and the searches weren't getting anywhere. The rapid typing and breathed curses from behind Tim told him that Johnathan was not getting anywhere either. That only left—

The elevator dinged and Tim looked up, praying for good news. He wasn't disappointed. Sarah stepped out of the elevator bank with an appropriately egotistical smile on her face and announced to the room at large, "Never fear, people. I've got our place."

Maxine came up behind her and punched her in the arm. "You mean 'we've got the place.'"

  
  



	3. Cheerleader

Chapter Three: Cheerleader

_Cheerleader—St. Vincent_

  
  


_We do not get over grief.  
But over time, we do learn to live with the loss.  
We learn to live a different life...with our loss._

  
  


  
  


**Angel**

Angel looked up at the proclamation. "What? How?"

Sarah sauntered to her desk, and perched lightly on the edge. She looked over to Ziva who was sitting on the shelf behind Johnathan. "We were interviewing the victim's friends and we found a common element."

Ziva raised her eyebrows. "And that would be?"

Sarah opened her mouth, but it was Maxine, who stood near the divider between the two teams, that answered. "The Crowbar. It's in the northern part of Silver Spring." Sarah's face fell.

"Well that's good." Angel stood up. "Can I go, Boss?"

McGee nodded, "Take Shauna with you."

Shauna immediately stood up and matched Angel's movements, grabbing her backpack from the ground behind her.

Sarah was indignant. She stood up and looked to Ziva as Angel and Shauna rushed by. "Hey. We found the lead, why can't we go?"

Ziva merely shook her head calmly. "No, I need you to keep talking to friends and family. And their C.O.s as well." Angel heard the last part as the elevator doors closed behind her. The wink directed at Shauna was met only with a disappointed shake of the head.

The club was pretty impressive. It was big, with a shiny black dance floor in the middle, a long bar along the back wall, and groups of tables on either side, and two big flat screen TVs that hung along the outside wall. It was only two in the afternoon, so very few people were present, and, for the most part, weren't doing anything other than drowning their sorrows, except for a trio of men near one of the TVs watching a football game.

Angel reached out and grabbed Shauna's wrist, which was reaching for her badge, to stop her from going any further. "So, how would you suggest we do this?" Angel asked, giving her a moment to answer.

Shauna looked confused. "What do you mean? We're just gonna ask the bartender some questions, right."

Angel rolled her eyes, while fixing Shauna's jacket to cover her weapon. "I thought I taught you better than that, Probie." She pushed her forward. "Look, we're not cops. We're IT or something and we're on our lunch break. Just act normal."

Shauna considered it, taking small steps, and then said, "Okay, but can we really have lunch?"

Angel thought back to the candy bar she'd stolen from the vending machine in the breakroom earlier. "Just something quick. And remember, act normal." Shauna set her face to 'not cop' mode as they arrived at the stained wooden bar. "Whisky, neat. And some nachos."

The bartender nodded and then looked at Shauna. You'd have thought she'd never ordered bar nachos before. Angel said, "We can share the nachos. You want a drink?"

She looked uncertain, but nodded.

Angel rolled her eyes at the bartender. "She'll have a whisky. Took me half an hour to get her here, she's gonna have a damn drink. She needs it."

The man smiled and made their drinks, then went in the kitchen to get the food. "Won't McGee be mad?" Shauna asked as they moved to the end of the bar.

Angel shook her head. "We're not going to drink it." She looked down at the amber liquid, a longing feeling in her gut. "Well…maybe just a little," and she took a sip and sighed. "Damn that's good. A little watered down, but good." She looked back at her partner, who was looking at her with wide eyes. "Hey, chill. Quit acting like we're not supposed to be here. Please tell me you've been to a bar in the middle of the day before?"

Shauna just shrugged.

"Just act normal, you weirdo," she whispered, as the bartender came back with the food. "So," she said to him, "how's the nightlife here. Couple friends of mine said it was pretty wild."

He shook his head, thoughtfully. "It's not too bad. We don't have much of a dance scene here. Not exactly what the owner planned for," he smirked and pointed toward the dance floor, "but it's still pretty busy."

Angel watched as Shauna devoured a chip and then go for another. She dipped it in cheese and said, "Has more of a sports bar feeling to me."

He shrugged. "Game nights, it is. You gals looking to come back?"

"Anything to forget about the damn job for a while. Our boss is a complete hardass."

Shauna almost choked on her food. The bartender smirked. "That bad, huh?"

Angel nodded, scooping up some chili and shoveling it into her mouth. "Uh huh," she said, mouth full.

The bartender nodded sympathetically. "I feel for ya. My boss," he said, quietly, jerking his thumb back towards the heavy door marked 'Private.' "Bi-iiiitch."

Twenty minutes later, they were walking back to their car. "Isn't him," Angel said, unlocking the driver's side door and commencing a search for mints.

Shauna ducked down on the passenger and looked at Angel over the seats like she'd lost her mind. "Are you kidding me?" She got in the car. "He told us his exact plan for murdering his boss, and you tell me he's not completely off his rocker?"

Angel abandoned the search, planning to stop for coffee on the way back to the office. Not that it would work anyway. Somehow, McGee always knew…. One glass, maybe he wouldn't care, but, it had been a rough morning and she'd downed Shauna's drink too, despite her partner's protests. "Crazy people don't tell normal people that they're crazy."

Shauna scoffed. "Fine, whatever, it wasn't him. But what about the other people in there?"

"Maybe, but doubtful. Believe it or not, you can't always tell a serial killer from a normal citizen. Some of the best ones are pillars of their community. Deacons, teachers, even cops. Those poor saps in there have bigger problems than some crazy, homicidal urges." She backtracked. "Well… maybe not worse."

  
  


Angel was on the phone with McGee, having allowed Shauna, who had insisted they switch spots, to drive. "We've got an in, Boss."

" _Yeah?"_ Short and sweet.

"Undercover at the bar. Worth a try. I mean, it's the one thing the vics have in common, plus a nightclub is the perfect place to hunt for women. Especially if you consider the roofies in their systems."

Silence as McGee thought. _"Sounds good. Both of you go home and get ready to go out. But come back to the office to get the equipment set up. I want to do this right."_

"On it," Angel said. She turned to her partner. "Please, tell me you've got some party clothes."

  
  


They had gone to Angel's apartment after tearing through the failure that was Shauna's closet. The girl needed to do a serious upgrade.

No matter which outfit Angel put Shauna in, she would not stop fidgeting. The skirt she was in at the moment was being pulled as far as it could possibly go down her thighs, accompanied by a frustrated look on her face.

"Stop it!" Angel snapped from the open door of her closet where she was going though all her clothes, looking for something Shauna would be more comfortable in. "Do you own anything that isn't denim or flannel? Surely you've gone to clubs before?"

"Yes, I have," she said, exasperatedly. "But I've always worn denim and flannel."

Angel closed her eyes and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" she rifled though some more of her own clothes and came back out of the closet, holding up a longer black sequined skirt. "Maybe this is more your—" she stopped when she was met with Shauna, skirt on the floor, and attempting to pull her top over her head. Angel quickly held the proffered clothes front of her face. "Whoa, girl. Cool your jets!"

Shauna laughed. "What? See something you like?"

Well… Angel slowly peeked over the hanger, raising her eyebrows, but quickly pulled it back up. No. Inappropriate. She threw the garment roughly at her nearly nude partner. "Just put that on and get out of my room."

  
  


**Matt**

Matt sighed from his seat next to Bobby down in his lab. Who knew that women could be so damn picky with what they put on? For the better part of the last hour, the men had been subjected to a show of 'Do you think this is hot?' by Sarah and Maxine after they found out that they would be going undercover at the club as well.

He looked at Bobby. "Explain to me why I'm down here again. Don't they already have a male partner to torture?"

Bobby smiled good-naturedly. "Yes, but one of them doesn't have a crush on _him_." He waggled his eyebrows and laughed at the appalled look that must have crossed Matt's face.

"What the hell are you talking about? Me? Which one?"

He only smiled again and placed a finger over his lips as the girls came out again.

After the tenth round, Sarah's face was so red that it almost matched her hair and Maxine was about two seconds from throwing down with either him or her partner—he didn't think that it would matter which. Bobby was trying to be helpful, but had mostly done nothing more than piss the redheaded fashionista off even more. She stormed back into the scientist's office, steam practically blowing out of her ears.

They stayed in there longer than usual and Matt could hear the bickering getting louder. Finally, he stood up, marched to the door, and let it swish open, eliciting a gasp from Sarah, who clutched a shirt in front of her almost bare torso like some blushing virgin. Maxine merely raised her hands in exasperation, ignoring the fact that she wore only a black tank top and no pants. Matt walked right up to them, grabbed the first shirt he had seen Sarah in and shoved it into her chest.

Maxine looked at him like she would likely kill him if he did that to her. Sarah liked to joke with Maxine about her Navajo Shaman ancestry, but even after three years undercover for the CIA, Matt knew better than to risk it—one hairy eyeball from her and he'd soon be bleeding from his ears. Instead, he pointed to a pair of black pants with studs down the sides and then walked back out of the office and toward the elevator.

  
  


**Angel**

They had to arrive at the club fairly early to avoid the line, so there was a lot of downtime before the work actually started. "So what's been going on with you lately? Got a boyfriend?"

Shauna was still picking at her frilly shirt, but she blushed. "No."

Angel smiled. "And why not?"

She could tell Shauna was trying not to be embarrassed, but she couldn't make eye contact. "Why does everybody always ask me that? There's nothing wrong with being single."

Angel conceded, nodding her head amiably. "No, nothing wrong with it. But it's still nice to have someone. I do want you to be happy, you know." A blush and a smile.

"I know. I just kind of prefer not to bother with it. Had some bad experiences in the past and never really wanted to risk it again."

Angel raised her eyebrows. "Oh, yeah? How's that?"

Shauna looked uncomfortable, but tried to hide it. "It—I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you— Did somebody hurt you? Because if they did, I will beat their ass." Anger boiling, she went to stand up, job be damned, but Shauna caught her arm. Her eyes were cast down and she began picking at her nails.

"It was a long time ago. My first real boyfriend."

Angel sat. "Hey, comms aren't on yet, babe. You know you can tell me anything."

Shauna shook her head. "It's nothing"

"Hey," she put her hand on Shauna's. "I won't tell anyone. I'd never hurt you like that."

Shauna sighed and finally looked her in the eye. "I was seventeen. I got married."

Angel's eyes went wide. "What in the hell would possess you to get married at seventeen?"

Shauna looked around at the other patrons slowly filling the bar. "I was…I was pregnant."

"What? But you—"

"He was an ass. An abusive ass." She cleared her throat. "One night—I think it was one his friends' birthday parties—he came home at like four o' clock in the morning. Drunk, as usual. I was mad at him for waking me up. I mean, I was seven months and it was hard enough to get to sleep as it was."

Angel saw moisture forming in the corner of the younger agent's eye. Shauna stopped talking for a moment and swallowed nervously. Angel stayed quiet and waited for her to continue.

A deep breath. "I yelled at him and was trying to leave the room, because I had to pee, but he grabbed my arm." Another swallow. "I tried to fight back, but he hit me. And then he did it again and I fell down. He was in a rage or something. I told him to leave me alone and tried to get up, but he put his foot on my back and pushed me down." She sighed and closed her eyes. "That's when it happened. The idiot finally called an ambulance, but it was already too late."

For one of the few times in her life, Angel was at a loss for words. Anger filled her body at the man who hurt her partner. She managed to get out an, "I'm sorry," but it was a tremendous effort on her part to hold in the fury. Shauna wasn't the one who needed to see it.

"It was a long time ago." She sighed calmly and shook her head viciously, as if to rid herself of the memories. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't put that on you." She looked up at Angel. "I'll bet you would have still gotten up and kicked his ass, pregnant or not."

Angel gave a half-hearted chuckle, loosening up, and attempting to put some ease back to the situation. "Well there was that one time when this chick tried to hit me when I burnt the eggs. I mean, I always burn the eggs. I really am a terrible cook." Angel smiled at the memory. "I hit her on the face with the frying pan. Straight off the fire, too."

Shauna snorted. "You're kidding right?"

Angel just shrugged. "Charges were dropped on me when the D.A. saw her face. Laughed her right out of her office." Angel sighed. "The D.A. was a good person. For a lawyer anyway. And really good in the sack too."

Shauna almost inhaled the drink she had raised to her lips.

Angel let her catch her breath. "I really am sorry. Was it a boy or a girl?"

Shauna sobered, but Angel caught a soft smile on her lips. "A boy. I was gonna name him Javier, after my dad."

"What? Are you Mexican? I didn't know that."

She chuckled. "I'm a quarter Mexican. My dad was half."

"Wow." Angel looked at her partner as if for the first time. "You catholic?"

"Not by practice. But that is why I got married so early. Got it annulled though when he went to prison. The judge was totally on my side. Husband got twenty years for murder, and I buried my baby next to my grandma and grandpa. I haven't been to the cemetery since. Can't face it, you know. It's too much." Shauna cleared her throat. "Isn't that crazy? It's been almost nine years." She gave a weak smile, and Angel tried to give her the most sincere one she could muster, as if she had any clue what that had been like.

"Someday you'll be able to," Angel said, hoping her confidence covered up the absolute shock she was feeling at hearing such a heartbreaking story. Poor Shauna, seventeen years old and burying her only child, and she had kept all of it inside for nine years.

"Yeah," Shauna said. "Someday. But hey, we're working now, let's focus on that."

Angel agreed, but didn't intend to let that be the end of the conversation. _Someday,_ she thought.


	4. Aciiid!

Chapter Four: Aciiid!

Aciiid!—Jem

  
  


_Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. –The Buddha_

  
  


**Shauna**

The night started off pretty smoothly. Eventually, Sarah and Maxine showed up to put in a little more variety. Considering the victims from this morning looked so aesthetically different, they were unsure as to the killer's exact type. As the night went on, Shauna seemed to find a rhythm of trying to appear like she was having fun while still looking out for possible suspects, though, she still had a hard time trying not to laugh when Angel started twitching every time a man tried to lay a line on her. But Angel was a professional; she chatted with them long enough to get some necessary information out of them. As per McGee's instructions, tonight was just to try and build a workable list of names and phone numbers.

"Hey!" Angel said, appearing out of nowhere and slapping at Shauna's hand. "You're tearing up my clothes."

She looked down. The thread connecting to one of the sequins was frayed almost to the point of breakage. "Oh, shit. Sorry." Her hands went up to her mouth and she started chewing on her unpainted nails. Angel batted her hands back down. "Nervous habit."

"Well, stop being nervous," Angel growled. "I swear to God. If one more idiot tries to feed me some cheesy line about my 'beautiful blonde curls,' I am going to snap him like a twig."

"Just relax."

"You relax!" Angel sat back in her chair. "I'm feeling itchy. Women are so much easier to talk to, less obsession with sex, lesbian clubs are so much less – "

"Playing wing-man, huh?" came a quiet, low pitched voice from behind them, and they spun around. A man was standing behind them with a cheeky grin on his face. He had dark hair and eyes, was tall and built, but not excessively so. He wasn't exactly Prince charming attractive, but he had a certain confidence about him that intrigued Shauna. Angel narrowed her eyes at the new arrival.

"You had better watch it unless you want to get punched in the junk," Angel said, finally losing her cool.

A smile lit his features, and he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "No worries. I was actually hoping to talk to your friend here." He turned to Shauna. "The names Dave."

"'The names Dave'" Angel mocked walking away. Shauna could hear McGee chastise her over the earwigs.

"Carrey," Shauna said, and held out her hand to grip his.

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow. First real handshake I've gotten from a woman all night."

"Most men are deterred by that sort of nonsense," Shauna said with a wink, playing it up.

He smiled again. It was rather contagious. "I disagree. You know, there's a lot that you can tell about a person by the way they shake your hand."

  
  


**Angel**

He was a charmer. Angel had to give him that as she watched Shauna sweet talk Dave out of his number, or rather, she was sweet-talked into asking for it. "Bleh," she stuck her tongue out in disgust.

Suddenly, a very short dress came into her line of vision and Angel was intrigued. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all. But then she looked up the see the overly bright face of none other than Sarah Winchester with her red hair in a high ponytail, and Angel's bubble of happiness popped.

"See anythin' suspicious?"

Angel smiled, annoyed. "They're all creeps to me."

  
  


**Maxine**

Maxine wasn't fairing nearly as well as her partner, voluptuous redhead as she was. Apparently, most men didn't really go for all black outfits, regardless of how little was left to the imagination. Then again, the dog collar wasn't her type of thing, but Bobby had found one of Abby Sciuto's old ones in his lab the other day and insisted that she wear it tonight. For some 'variety,' as he had called it.

She took another sip of the diet virgin roman coke, a.k.a. regular diet coke; the bartender had just laughed when she ordered it. If her boss hadn't been watching every move she was making, she might have had him dump a little something extra in it. It was going to be a long night. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.

" _Maxine_!" She jumped up at the voice that sounded suddenly in her ear. She had to clench her jaw to keep from crying out. Damn earpieces.

"Agent McGee," she said quietly, barely moving her lips. "Where's Ziva?"

" _Bathroom_." His voice was gruff. _"You've only gotten six numbers."_

She rolled her eyes. "Oh? Counting, are you?"

He chuckled softly. _"Can I give you some advice?"_

"Suppose I can't say no."

 _"Well, you can start with getting the hell out of that booth,"_ McGee said. _"Go up to the bar. Act confident…. Be confident."_

Maxine sighed and stood up, adjusting her shirt to make sure the button cam was clear. "You try getting picked up when all you want to do is go home and sleep."

As usual, Agent McGee was right. The second she sat down in front of the bar, a large, sweaty man came up to her, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. McGee chuckled in the earpiece.

She sighed. At least it was something.

  
  


**McGee**

Tim and Ziva were still in the office, taking turns listening into their agents work. They sat together in a conference room and looked over all the papers spread over the table. Ziva's nephew Natanael was downstairs asleep on the couch in Bobby's vacated lab, having worn himself out from playing video games with the scientist all evening. For someone who claimed to love all of nature, Bobby sure loved slaughtering in the digital world. Eventually, however, Bobby had declared Natanael the winner and left to get some sleep.

Matt and Johnathan had gone home already, as they were expected back bright and early to start going over all the video from the button and necklace cams the girls were wearing. But, of course, someone had to stay to run the command center and supervise to make sure nothing went wrong, and neither Tim nor Ziva had conceded to go home first.

Ziva dropped her head to the table, making a muffled thump, and her hair flopped over the papers. "How much longer?" she asked the table.

Tim checked his watch. "'Bout half an hour until midnight. That's when they should be packing up."

She made a pained noise.

"Doesn't Natanael have school tomorrow?" Tim asked, attempting to guilt her into going home.

"No. It's a faculty meeting day." It almost sounded like she was crying. "But I have to go to represent the PTA."

Tim laughed and patted her on the back. Who'd have thought Ziva would ever turn into a soccer mom? Not that he didn't like the change in cast; it was nice having a kid that he got to help mentor. Palmer's girls were still too young for that. "Ziva, go home. The nights almost over."

She sighed in what appeared to be defiance, but then stood up suddenly and shuffled her pile of papers into a single stack. "Fine. But, anything happens, I am the first to know. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." That comment earned him the first headslap he'd had in years. He rubbed the back of his head and grinned as he watched her leave, but as soon as the door shut, it faded. When she hit him, a vision of silver hair and blue eyes flashed across his mind. After Gibbs passed, even Tony had stopped doing it; to him, at least.

_'Just doesn't feel right, doing it to you. That was his thing,' Tony had said, facing the plasma. He ignored the angry Angel, who had just been given a headslap, in the background. He half-shrugged and looked discretely over his shoulder. "She deserved it."_

Tim smiled.

He leaned back in his chair. _Has it really been six years_? he thought, not for the first time that week. Tim still couldn't believe how much had changed. When Ziva left for Paris, Tony was kind of heartbroken for a long time, but eventually, he realized that it just wasn't meant to be. And even after she came back, they remained just friends. Apparently, Abby had begun to fill that void. Leave it to Tony to have a secret relationship.

But life moved on. Tony left Tim as team leader, with Angel and Matt. It stayed a three man team for almost four months before Tim finally found Shauna to fill the empty desk. She was nervous as hell when they'd first met, but she managed to push past that, stand up to Angel's taunts, and almost single-handedly catch a killer, all at the same time. Gibbs would have been so proud.

He checked his watch after a while; two 'til midnight. He pushed the button for the comms, and said, "Alright, ladies. Wrap it up and head home."

  
  


**Sarah**

Sarah gave her excuses to the man she had been chatting up and started toward her partner. Maxine was sitting in the booth again, head down on the table. "You ready, girl?"

Maxine's head shot up. "Like you have no idea." She stood and made for the exit.

"Hey, wait up!" Sarah called after her, nearly stumbling in her heels. She caught up to her near the door. "Hey, relax." She put her arm around Maxine's shoulders and held her still while she took off her stilettos. "Nights over, we're done. No need to run." They stepped outside and headed for the car on the other side of the street.

"So did you have a good—" Maxine stiffened. "Did you hear that?"

Sarah looked around. "Hear what?" She stopped walking, turning her head to the side. Maxine pointed towards the rear of parking lot.

Then she heard it; muffled crying. Sarah dropped her shoes on the ground and went for the gun in her thigh holster as they crept their way through the cars toward the sound.

A flash of dirty blonde hair and a dark blue dress appeared as it was shoved into the back of a dark SUV fifty feet away. A guy in a hood got into the drivers seat. "Ziva? Agent McGee?" Sarah said into the comms. The door slammed and the car started. "Ziva!" she said, louder, breaking into a run. Something sharp cut into her left foot, but she didn't stop.

Agent McGee's voice sounded in her ear, _"Sarah, what's wrong?"_

The car pulled out into the street ahead of them and sped off into the night. "I can't see it. Max!" she called to the left side of the lot. "Anything?"

 _"What happened?"_ McGee demanded.

"Last two digits are 39." Max ran over. "Couldn't get anything else."

"It looked like a Tahoe."

"No, it was too small for that."

 _"Hey!"_ McGee shouted, causing interference in their ears. _"What happened?_ _I can't see anything."_

Sarah slapped the wall behind her in frustration. "Some girl just got abducted."

_"Did you see the guy?"_

"Not well. Hoodie. Dark pants. But she had blonde hair. It was an SUV, last two digits 39."

"Make, model? Color?"

Sarah looked to Max, who shrugged. "Black? Blue? It's too dark."

_"Damn it."_

"Guys, what's wrong?" Angel's voice came from behind them.

"What happened?" Shauna took in Sarah's bare, bleeding feet. "Are you okay?"

"We're fine," Sarah said through clenched teeth. "That girl that just got kidnapped might not be though. Dammit!" she slammed her fist down on the nearest car hood.

Maxine put a hand on her arm. "Calm down. We'll find her, don't worry."

McGee spoke up, breathing deeper, as if he were moving. _"Guys, hang tight, I'll be right there. Call the cops, and have them set up down there with a forensics team. We need to work this fast."_

  
  



	5. Never Wanted to Dance

**Chapter Five: Never Wanted to Dance**

Never Wanted to Dance—Mindless Self Indulgence

  
  


_Letting go of the pain, moving on with life  
Is the moral of the story  
And if you read until the end,  
You'll see the lesson that says  
"No guts/No glory."_

  
  


  
  


**Sarah**

Sarah dropped down in a huff in Bobby's desk chair. "I can't believe we let that creep get away."

"I can't believe we still don't know who he is. The thought that one of us could have talked to him…" Maxine shuddered. She sat cross-legged on a table in front of the desk and dropped her head into her hands. "I can't wait 'til this case is over."

Sarah leaned back and looked at the bare white ceiling. "What do you think he's doing to her?"

"You know, Sarah, I really don't want to think about it."

Bobby was in the front lab, going through evidence from the parking lot. Sarah and Maxine had tried to help, but eventually, he locked them in his office because, the way he put it, "You're helping too much, dude."

Sarah still couldn't shake the feeling that they could have done something more, even though she knew it was an impossible feat. She'd been enjoying herself too much at the club. Maybe if she'd paid a little more attention, she would have noticed something—anything that could have given the killer away.

She had been fidgeting all morning with very little to do. Matt and Shauna were out doing the follow up interviews, Ziva and Agent McGee were with the director to give an update on the case, and Angel, Maxine, and Sarah had stayed at the office to go over the video from the bar with Johnathan, but had finished up pretty quickly. So, at the moment, she and Maxine had nothing to do but wait to go back to the club.

Maxine suddenly flopped back onto the table to stare up at the ceiling. "So... what?" she said. "Are we just supposed to go back tonight and pretend like nothing's wrong?"

"Yep," Sarah said sullenly.

A loud sigh, then Maxine stood again and went to the locked glass sliding door and knocked. "Bobby, let me out."

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked, but didn't get up.

"I can't just sit here. I'm going to go back over the video and memorize the faces. Bobby!"

The scientist came to the door, remote in hand, but with a skeptical look on his face. "You're not gonna mess up my work again, are you?"

"You are so particular! I didn't do anything!" she shouted through the glass.

"You almost ruined my sample!" he argued back.

Maxine gave him an angry look and raised her arm to place her hand on the butt of her gun. Bobby narrowed his eyes, but opened the door anyway and watched as she stormed past him toward the elevator.

He gave Sarah a confused look, but when she did not respond in kind, his eyebrows scrunched together. "What's wrong, cowgirl?"

"I should have stopped him."

"Who? The killer?"

"He was right there, Bobby! We couldn't even get the make and model of the truck." She hit the top of the desk, but with a little less vigor than the night before. There was no passion in the outburst.

Bobby paused uncertainly, then stepped forward and sat on the edge of his desk. "You know it's not your fault, right?"

She breathed out and shook her head. "Doesn't matter whose fault it is. He's still got her. Who knows where she is right now or what he's doing to her." She looked up suddenly, remembering what Ziva had told the team yesterday. "Have you gotten anywhere with the soil you found on Agent McGee's victim?"

"No. sorry. I'm still trying to get samples from the park for comparison."

"I can go—"

He held up his hand to stop her. "I've already got the forensics techs on it."

"Oh." She deflated. "Well, I suppose I could just sit _here_ , then."

"Or you could get some sleep," he said pointing at the couch along the wall. She shook her head.

Bobby smiled sympathetically and placed his hands on her shoulders. "We'll catch him. I have faith in you dudes."

Sarah grinned a little at his casual term. "I sure hope you're right."

  
  


**McGee**

Tim stepped out of the elevator, third cup of coffee of the day clutched in his hand. "Anything new?" he asked of Matt and Shauna, who were sitting at their desks.

Shauna looked exhausted. "Nothing," she said staring blankly at her computer screen.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Tim said, stopping in front of her desk.

She yawned widely. "Tried. Couldn't. I'm okay."

"My ass you're okay." He sat his coffee down in front of her keyboard. "You'd better get some rest this afternoon. I need you sharp."

Shauna leaned forward, eyes closed and sniffed at the cup. Matt snickered.

Tim slapped her desk, fighting a smile when she jumped up, eyes wide, her chair creaking from the movement. She looked over at Matt, who still laughed silently. "Not funny," she murmured.

"Boss!" Angel's voice came from the stairway. She strode toward the bullpen, a proud smile on her face. "Metro just got back to me." She stopped behind her desk and typed for a few seconds. She then stood, grabbed the plasma remote and clicked. Three D.C. license photocopies appeared.

"Three women, different heights, ages, skin color, and almost nothing in common at all in looks, jobs, beliefs. Totally random, right?"

"Nothing about this is random." Tim said.

"And they all disappeared from D.C.?" Ziva asked, having come over from her own desk.

"Yes. All from nightclubs within the past year, about three months apart. The last one," she clicked the remote, "Alice Williams, waitress. She disappeared from the Crowbar almost ten months ago. They were all found about a week later with cross marks on their stomachs."She clicked a few more times, showing crime scene photos. All three were curled up, eyes closed, dress clothes dirty but still intact.

While she continued going over the photos, Tim looked up to see Johnathan coming down the stairs from MTAC, an apprehensive look adorning his features. He walked into the bullpen and surreptitiously and cleared his throat, interrupting Angel. "Ma'am," he nodded to Ziva, but caught himself quickly. "Sorry, I mean Ziva."

She smiled tersely at him. "Yes, Johnathan? You look like you have something."

His face blushed red at having everybody's eyes on him, so he quickly went over to Matt's computer and sent his own data to the plasma screen. "I was talking to the FBI in MTAC and I found something that I think you need to see."

Tim leaned over and whispered in Ziva's ear. "Did _you_ tell him to talk to the FBI?"

She shook her head, a surprised look crossing her face.

"There's a pattern here," Johnathan explained, taking the remote from Angel and bringing up maps of Georgia, Mississippi, and Maine, red dots sprinkled randomly over them. "In the past decade, a string of murders have all been committed in these states. The pattern wasn't quite so obvious during the first couple of years—he hasn't always done the cross thing—but according to the agents I spoke to, it still matches, even though he was still forming his MO."

Matt spoke up. "Was the FBI working on this already?"

Johnathan shook his head. "This isn't a case of theirs, but I had them look into the UCR, or the Uniform Crime Report that they take every year of all crimes reported to police, and this is what they found." He clicked, revealing about thirty photo ids from the three states. "Now, the murders happened maybe three times a year or more for about three years in each state before he moves on again. The last reported was in Georgia, a little over a year ago. I think we've got our guy." He turned around to find them all staring openly at him and the blush began to rise again.

It was Angel who broke the pregnant pause. "Well, I'm impressed. Good one, man." She slapped him on the back.

He turned to Ziva, looking for something… and was met with a simple nod, the corners of her mouth fighting with the rest of her face for control.

He smiled shyly at the gesture, clearly all the praise he needed from who Tim was beginning to suspect would be proud to call herself his boss for a very long time.

"Alright, everybody back to work," Tim announced, scattering the agents back to their respective desks, but he stepped into Johnathan's path and shook his hand. "You're good, kid."

Johnathan looked at him with wide eyes, but then he reigned in his expression. "Thanks, sir."

Tim narrowed his eyes. "I mean, Agent McGee," he amended.

Tim nodded and went back to his desk.

"One question," Shauna said, after a few minutes of silence. "In ten years, the murders only occurred a few times a year. Why so many now?"

  
  


**Shauna**

"Angel, why is she wearing such a short skirt? I can see her weapon when she walks."

Shauna probably should feel uncomfortable, with her boss studying her legs the way he was, but it was the third night that he had complained about the way Angel had dressed her, and by now she was just about used to playing human Barbie doll.

"Only because you're looking!" Angel argued.

"Exactly! Everyone's going to be looking. That's the whole point." Angel and McGee used to partners, and that was really the only reason that he would take such an argument from her.

Angel huffed and came at Shauna. "Can't we just move it up a little more?" She went to get a hold of the holster, but Shauna jumped away.

"Hey, I don't know where you're weapon is, but mine will _not_ go up any further."

"Fine!" Angel threw her hands up in the air and marched out of the bullpen, heading to Bobby's lab where he had let her store her clothes for the case length. "I'll find a different freaking skirt."

"Thanks, Boss," Shauna said when Angel disappeared into the elevator. She tried to sit, but failed. He grunted what she imagined was a 'you're welcome,' and went to his desk.

It was Saturday night; five days after the case began.

It felt longer.

Shauna had never gone out maybe more than a couple nights in a row, she liked a quiet night in as much as the next sane person, but the past week had been torture. Luckily though, it wasn't all in vain. They had compiled quite the list of suspects and formed reputations, and some relationships, with the regulars. But there was still a long way to go and very little time. They still hadn't found the girl that Sarah and Maxine had witnessed being kidnapped and there was nothing they could do but wait.

The elevator dinged and Angel stepped out holding up a pair of tight-looking pants and—thank God—some actual tennis shoes. Shauna didn't even really care that they sparkled. This Arizona girl did not do heels well.

Shauna changed in the bathroom and came out to show McGee, gun and holster in her hand.

"Where does the gun go?"

Angel growled and jumped up from her desk, grabbed Shauna's gun from her hand, and stuffed it roughly down the front of her shirt. "There! Happy?"

McGee nodded, ignoring the affronted look Shauna was giving the both of them. "Good. Let's get a move on."

  
  


**Angel**

This was Angel's scene. But it was usually only her scene on weekends and nights that weren't followed by ungodly early mornings of paperwork and cold coffee. She was just flat-out tired. She sat at the bar, fake sipping at the bourbon, and sucking down a glass of root beer. One of the main reasons she liked bars was the alcohol. God, she missed the alcohol.

So far, tonight had been just like the previous few nights. They had to keep finding new people; there were only so many times you could chat somebody up before they started to question why you wouldn't go home with them. McGee had had them call a few people, but that hadn't lead anywhere. The problem was, as Angel hadn't mentioned—and she knew everyone else was feeling the same—if they kept doing what they were doing for much longer, someone, i.e. the killer, might begin to suspect that they had an ulterior motive.

Shauna was the only exception. Save for a couple of nights when he wasn't there, she had been talking to Dave (the guy from the first night who had managed to form a twenty minute conversation about handshakes.) It had become quite the debate in the office as to whether he was the killer or not.

Angel didn't believe his charm for a minute and refused to stray very far from her partner when she was with him. He wasn't anywhere to be seen tonight, thankfully. Shauna, however, insisted that he wasn't who they were looking for, regardless of how many times Angel pointed out his weird qualities. Shauna was convinced that Angel was just being paranoid. They weren't the only ones involved, though.

McGee refused to take sides. He chose to give them both the benefit of the doubt, and was, as usual, no help at all. Ziva on the other hand went automatically to Shauna's team, which Angel found strange…at first. McGee, although supposedly indifferent, had had some words with her over her involvement.

_Angel listened outside the elevator. It was uncanny how little the metal doors blocked the sound. Everyone else sat quietly at their desks, pretending not to listen, but Angel, who had no such_ _qualms when it came to eavesdropping, knew that when she didn't hear typing or any other noise that it was only for show._

" _Ziva, what the hell are you doing?" McGee said harshly to his old partner._

_She harrumphed at him. "I know what you are thinking, McGee."_

" _Oh? Do you?"_

" _Yes. I seem to remember that no one believed me when I told you_ he _was not guilty. Perhaps she just needs someone to back her up."_

" _Ziva, this isn't fifteen years ago. You don't know if it's him or not, just like you didn't know_ _then_ _. "_

" _I_ did _know then, and if she insists that it's not him, then I believe her."_

_McGee sighed loudly, an attempt to regain his control. "Ziva, you have nothing to prove by doing this," he said with a strained voice._

" _You think I am trying to make some kind of point?" she hissed._

" _Look, I'm not saying that it_ is _him, but that doesn't mean that I don't still want her to be on her toes. The second you let your guard down—"_

" _I_ know _, Tim. But that does not mean that you are allowed to make her jaded. You cannot cut her off from the world, that's what life is. Fear should have nothing do with it."_

_McGee finally lost it and shouted, "Unless it's fear of being brutally murdered by a_ _psychopath!"_

_The last sentence resounded throughout the main floor. Angel gasped and turned to find Shauna trying to hide the single tear running down her cheek._

Angel knew that McGee was just trying to protect her, but Ziva also had a point. Angel just wished that Ziva had chosen another time to bring it up. McGee had quite the tendency, so to speak, to coddle Shauna. Not that Angel herself wasn't just as guilty as he was, on occasion. He tried his hardest to keep her away from the more dangerous assignments; in fact, Angel was surprised he'd even let her stay undercover at the bar.

It was almost like he was compensating for something. He'd mentioned something to her years ago, before he became team leader, about wishing that he'd taken more time to have a family. Ever since Shauna had been added to their team, he treated her with special care. At first, it could be assumed that it was because she was a probie and new to the whole investigative process, but after a nearly three years, it hadn't changed.

Only twenty-six, she was much younger than the other two on the team. He treated her like his surrogate daughter. He denied it, but Angel knew him well enough to tell how he felt.

"Another?" a voice asked, and Angel turned to the bartender, then down to the shot glass. Looked like she had drunk the shot without meaning to. She nodded at the man and he topped her off. She took another fake sip.

A very familiar ringtone sounded close to Angel. She looked and saw Sarah hold up one polished finger to the medium height, curly-haired man she had been talking to. "Hello?" she said, pleasantly, but from the look on her face, Angel could guess who was on the other line. "What?" her eyes widened. "Yeah…yeah, I'll be right there. Sorry, work emergency." she said to the man.

"It's ten at night," he said to her retreating back. "And I thought you were a fashion designer?"

Angel glanced over to Maxine, who was reading a text.

McGee's voice came over the comms. _"We've got another body guys. Angel and Shauna, hang tight. We think it might be the girl from the other night, and we need Maxine and Sarah to confirm. Call me if you need anything. Johnathan's running operations."_

Angel and Shauna looked at each other from across the dance floor. Shauna nodded subtly and went back to talking to the tall blonde she was standing next to.

"Got it, Boss," Angel said behind her hand and then dropped her head onto the table. Even a crime scene was sounding fun compared to this.

" _Agent de Luca? Angel? Angel!"_

Angel's head shot up from the table, eyes blinking owlishly. She cleared her throat of sleep. "What is it, Probie?" she snapped, wiping some spit from the side of her mouth.

" _Oh. I—umm."_ He cleared his throat. _"Your camera was dark. I didn't—I guess you were—"_

"Sleeping?" she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I caught that."

" _Right. Sorry, I—"_

"Don't worry about it." She sighed. "It's my fault." She looked around. Nothing big had changed, so she couldn't have been out that long. "It's been a tough week, Johnathan."

He let out a breath. _"Yeah, I guess it has."_

Angel took a long drink from the root beer, ignoring how flat it had gone. "Have you heard anything on the body yet?"

" _No, I haven't. Agent David said she'd call before they came back, but that could take hours."_

"I'd really start calling her Ziva if I were you. Let's her know that you're comfortable around her."

" _Yeah, that's what Sarah said."_

"Well, I suggest you listen." She took another drink. "God, I've got to get back to work. What's Shauna up to?"

" _Umm,"_ a few clicks were heard. _"She's talking to…. Is that Dave?'_

"Dave? Handshake Dave?" she stood up, immediately shaking off the fogginess and peering over the people. "He wasn't here earlier. What are they doing?"

" _Hang on…what? She's heading towards the exit. You guys aren't supposed to leave."_

Finally, Angel spotted the bright pink shirt she'd stuffed her partner into earlier that afternoon. She was being supported by Dave as she swayed.

"Dammit! Johnathan, call the cops."

" _Already doing it."_

Angel lifted up her skirt and took her weapon out of the holster, keeping it pressed up against her stomach as she pushed through the patrons. She pulled out her phone as she barged through the door, hitting the speed dial for McGee.

She ran through the parking lot attempting to keep Shauna within her sights, but she was nowhere to be found.

" _Agent McGee,"_ _h_ e answered roughly.

"Boss, Shauna's been drugged," she whispered. "I'm out in the parking lot, but he's got her. I don't—"

There was a sharp pain on the back of her head and everything went black.

  
  



	6. Fear of Being Alone

Chapter Six: Fear of Being Alone  
Fear of Being Alone—the Exies

  
  


_The room was dark  
The room was drear  
And all I could feel  
Was a rush of fear  
The shades were down  
And it was hard to see  
But I could feel her heartbeat  
And it comforted me_

  
  


**McGee**

Yet another victim in a seemingly endless stream of nearly a decade of evil. It sickened Tim to think of someone getting away with murder for so long. How had no one noticed?

Tim stood off to the side and watched as Palmer examined the body. Sarah and Maxine had preliminarily identified the woman as the one they witnessed being kidnapped; though all they had to go on was the blonde hair and the dark blue dress, which the killer must have had to lift up to cut the mark into her stomach. At least her panties were still intact; Palmer had confirmed that no sexual trauma had occurred with the other victims.

Ziva was talking to her agents and Matt near the crime scene tape, giving orders as to the collection of evidence. It would likely be an overnight assignment. Everybody was already so tired that Tim had half a mind to just send them all home and do it himself, but he and Ziva had trained them too well to quit before all the work was done. It wasn't the best philosophy when it came to having a life, and it sure as hell hadn't worked out for Tim: forty-five years old and nothing to show for it. No family, no real friends outside of work, and a failed engagement. He hadn't been home to see his parents for years.

The sharp shrill of his phone broke through his thoughts. He took a step away from the body to answer. "Agent McGee."

Angel's voice was quiet, but urgent. _"Boss, Shauna's been drugged."_ Tim's heart dropped into his stomach.

" _I'm out in the parking lot, but he's got her. I don't—"_

"Angel? Angel!" A clatter of the phone hitting the ground. "Angel, I'm coming!" Tim yelled into the phone, but he didn't dare hang up.

"Boss, what's wrong?" Matt came up behind him, worry all over his face. Tim grabbed him by the arm and began pulling him toward the car.

"Tim?" Ziva called out, running after them and catching up easily.

"He's got them, Ziva!" he spit out. He could feel that familiar stinging behind his eyes, but now wasn't the time for crying. "That bastard's got my girls!"

Matt disentangled himself from Tim's grip and managed to make it to the car before the other two. He opened all the doors and got in the back. Tim went for the driver's seat, but Ziva pushed him aside and jumped in herself. "I am driving, Tim. Get in the car," she said, more calmly than she looked.

Tim didn't argue with her, they had no time and Ziva had come the closest to breaking the sound barrier when she was behind the wheel.

It may have been only ten minutes from when they left the park to the time they arrived at the club, even though they ran every stoplight, stop sign, train track, school zone, and one vacant lot, but it didn't help. They were gone.

Matt ran around the parking lot twice before he finally conceded to that point. Ziva's phone had rang in the car, but she was too busy to answer. It rang again, and she looked at the caller id. "It's Johnathan." She put him on speaker.

" _Ziva, thank God. It's Angel."_ His voice was frantic. _"I don't know what happened. She said Shauna was being taken out of the bar, and she was following. She told me to call the cops and I did, but then something happened and I can't get her back on the comms. I didn't—"_

"We are at the club, Johnathan," Ziva said, jaw clenched. "They are not here anymore."

" _They're—what? What do you mean they're not—"_

Matt growled. "It means they're not here anymore. We didn't get here in time and now they're gone." He slammed both fists down on the hood of a white corvette and cursed. If he felt any pain, he didn't notice.

Tim stepped towards the phone. "Johnathan, did she say what he looked like?"

"No…. But, I know who it is…"

"Well?"

"It was Dave. He took them." Ziva's eyes widened as they locked with Tim's.

"Boss!" Matt had wandered off, and he stood near the exit behind a couple of cars.

Ziva and Tim ran over. "What is it?"

He pointed to the ground. "Angel's phone and gun."

The local cops chose that particular moment to show up, lights going, but no sirens; too late to help anybody.

Tim turned back to Matt and pointed at the phone. "You call Bobby and get those to him. I want to know what happened, now."

  
  


**Matt**

Matt sat against the back wall of the powered-down elevator that hadn't changed in the six years he'd been working for NCIS, and held his head in his hands. Since moving around and reacting violently to nearly everything that had gotten in his way hadn't worked, he had decided that the only logical way to keep from getting in trouble was to be as still as possible.

It had been nearly three hours since he came back to headquarters and it was the middle of the night, but, as of yet, there was nothing that he could do. McGee and Ziva had both stayed at the club to get the surveillance tapes and attempt to interview as many witnesses as possible, and still try not to give away their cover. Exactly how that was possible was still beyond Matt.

"Matt, please come out. You have to talk to me eventually." Maxine had been outside the elevator doors for the better part of half an hour. She was probably just a few minutes away from either climbing down the shaft and in though the ceiling or prying the doors open with her bare hands. One moment she was yelling at him, then the next, she was knocking softly and apologizing, and then the next, she was twisting her words, trying to coerce him into coming out. He didn't move.

Not even ten minutes. Ten minutes too late, and his partners were gone. And what could he do? What could he do when that monster was doing God-knows-what to them in some far-off place where no one could hear them scream? They could already be dead for all anyone knew. Surely Dave had found their weapons, or heard Angel's call. There was no way he didn't know that they were cops. Matt's breath hitched and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Alright! That's it, I give up," Maxine shouted and slapped her hand on the doors. "You just better be out of there before Agent McGee gets back."

A few minutes later, and her footsteps could be heard coming towards him again, but she was prepared this time. It started out with the sound of metal scraping against metal and a few curses, causing him to look up sharply. Then, suddenly, the pointy end of a black crowbar came through the silver doors and began twisting, looking for some leverage. With one final grunt from Maxine, she shoved the doors opened.

Maxine stood in the opening, wide stance, panting. She wiped the little bit of sweat that had collected on her brow and dropped the tool to the floor. Matt steeled himself, preparing for a fight, but Maxine merely came into the elevator and sat next to Matt, putting her arm around his shoulders and looking out into the dark squadroom.

After staying defiantly silent for almost five minutes, Matt finally gave in and wrapped his arms around her waist, allowing the tears, that had been threatening to fall since he'd found Angel's phone, to come.

  
  


**Angel**

Cold.

That was the first thing Angel became aware of. And hard. And pain—on the back of her head. Unfortunately, the situation was more familiar than she liked to admit. She knew what was happening, and being kidnapped was not fun.

The best possible thing she could do at the moment was stay down until her head stopped spinning and she could remember exactly what had gotten her here in the first place.

How _did_ she get here again? Her memory was a little fuzzy at the moment, but she recalled…. The bar. They were at a bar. But what bar? And why were they there? That seemed important. Something about…

Angel bolted straight up, but immediately regretted it. Pain exploded throughout her skull, temporarily stunning her train of thought. The throbbing eventually faded and Angel opened her eyes, having to blink away the double vision. Of course she had a concussion.

What was she thinking about again?

Shauna!

Angel looked around; only a small amount of light came from a couple of windows high in the walls, leaving shadows all over a small room. Probably ten by ten feet, thick concrete walls, and what looked like a very heavy door.

Shauna had to be somewhere around here. She turned around quickly, bracing herself with her hands, and another shot of pain went through her head. After a moment, she opened her eyes again and squinted into the dark. She didn't see anything at first, but then a shape began to form out of the darkness, facing the wall. Angel rolled over to face the shape and proceeded to half-crawl and half-scoot over to what she hoped was her partner.

She touched a shoulder. Warm. Alive. "Shauna?" she shook it, but received no response. She felt the fabric of the shirt. It was Shauna alright. "Hey, you've gotta wake up." Her voice was gravelly and her mouth dry.

Angel shook Shauna again, and said softly, "Come on, now." She felt Shauna's neck. Strong pulse, maybe a little fast. Angel remembered that she had been drugged. She rolled her onto her back and listened for breath. Shallow.

Angel straightened and looked around. The two windows were partially open, letting in a small breeze. The light was moonlight, she determined, moving directly into the rays. She got to her feet with some effort and stood below them. Even with her arms outstretched, it was still way out of her reach.

She walked up to the door and ran her hand along the edge. Airtight. The doorknob didn't turn. There was no way they were getting out of here without being let out. Unless….

Angel felt for her thigh holster. No gun, no cell phone. She must have dropped them when she was knocked out. No comm device either. She then reached into her bra and pulled out her switchblade. Rule #9.

Upon further investigation, she found that Shauna's weapon was gone as well, and as Angel was searching her pockets, Shauna's eyes cracked open and she made a noise like she was about to throw up.

Angel brushed the hair out of her partner's eyes. "Hey, you with me, Probie?"

"Don't feel good," she said weakly.

"Yeah, I bet. Can you sit up?"

Shauna nodded, eyes closed and she allowed herself to be lifted from the floor. "Let me guess…"

"Yep. We got our asses kidnapped by a crazy serial killer."

Shauna leaned forward and put her head in her hands with a groan. Then she suddenly sat back up and looked Angel in the eye. Or at least Angel supposed she was looking her in the eye in the dark. "I remember…. It's Dave, isn't it?"

Angel looked at her sadly. "Sure is."

Shauna sighed and looked at the floor. "Damn. I guess you and McGee were right all along."

"Sorry, babe." Angel patted her partner on the shoulder. "You have no idea how much I wish I was wrong."

Shauna nodded and looked around the room. "I suppose you already checked for a way out?"

"No luck. The door is bolted, the windows are too high. Walls seem pretty solid."

"Well, crap."

"Hey, McGee'll get us out of here."

"Do you really believe that?" She looked uncertain.

To be quite honest, Angel was really having her doubts about the whole situation—not being helped by the concussion she was sure she had—but Shauna needed something to hold onto. "Of course I do," she said with hopefully a meaningful smile. "I'm sure he's on our trail right now. I mean, look who we're talking about here."

Shauna grinned knowingly.

" _Probie, Probie, Probie," Angel said, coming into the bullpen, and shaking her head slowly from side to side. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"_

_Shauna gave her an annoyed look. "What are you gloating about now?"_

" _Ignore her, Shauna," Matt said, setting a set of papers on the boss's desk. "She's just trying to get a rise out of you. That's what she does when she's bored."_

_Angel smiled evilly. "Oh, if only it were that simple, Agent Jericho," she said to Matt, but never took her eyes off Shauna. "I'm not the one who's been getting a rise out of you, Probie."_

_Shauna, at first looked at her like she was crazy, but then something seemed to click in her mind and her lips parted slightly in surprise._

" _What?" Matt stood up. "You mean she actually has something.″ He positioned himself between the two of them, Shauna sitting behind her desk and Angel standing in front of it, and crossed his arms, waiting for something to happen._

_Shauna closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. "How could you possibly know? I never told anyone."_

" _Told anyone what?" Matt interjected, but was hushed by both his partners, who were locked_ _in a staring match of death._

" _I have my ways," Angel smiled._

_Shauna's eyes widened. "Did you hurt him?"_

" _Hurt who?" Matt asked exasperatedly._

_McGee, naturally, chose that exact moment to show up. "She's boinking Palmer's new assistant."_

_Matt snorted, Shauna gasped, and Angel stared in awe. "Oh, you're good, Boss. I had to threaten the kid within an inch of his life to get him to tell me."_

_Shauna stood up in anger, and pointed at Angel. "You—"_

" _Gear up!" McGee announced, grabbing his badge and gun from his desk. "Dead Marine at Quantico."_

_They all rushed to comply._

Shauna whimpered and hunched over, arms around her middle. "What's wrong?" Angel asked, panicked. She reached out for her partner.

Shauna took a few shallow breaths and answered, "My stomach."

Angel wrapped her arms around Shauna and allowed her to lean against her. "Must be the drugs he got you with." Shauna let out a small whine and winced as another pain shot through her body. "It'll be over soon."

  
  



	7. Those Nights

Chapter Seven: Those Nights  
Those Nights—Skillet

  
  


_I struggle to dismiss these intrusive memories, but they return to haunt my waking thoughts. Cause me to wonder about my decisions and make me question the present course._

  
  


  
  


**McGee**

Of all the things Tim could have, and probably should have, been thinking about (like coordinating with Metro to set up a search, or how to allocate the work of going through the bar surveillance and the CCTV,) the only thing that stuck in his head was how badly they'd screwed up. How could this happen? This would never have happened if Gibbs were here. Or Tony.

Ziva was driving again. Her eyes were glued on the road and she hadn't said anything directly to him since they left the bar. He wouldn't have either if he had been completely, utterly wrong about the kind of man Dave was.

He wanted to be angry at her—that would have been easy—but her silence spoke volumes of what she was likely screaming at herself inside her head. And even then, it wasn't just her. He'd let himself get complacent. They'd been at the bar for almost a week and nothing had happened. He had been ready to just give up the undercover angle and try a different method. And then...

"Ziva—" Tim began.

"No." She didn't look at him. "There is nothing to say."

"Ziva—"

"Stop."

"It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is."

"Ziva—"

"If it were not for me, Shauna would not have been so trusting of him. I _was_ trying to make a point. You knew it. I knew it. It is all my fault." A single, glistening tear ran down the side of her softly lined face, suspended on the curve of her jaw, and then disappeared into her dark jacket.

Tim watched her for a moment longer. It was absurd to think that she would have said otherwise if she had known that Dave—if that was his real name—was the killer. The Ziva he'd known for years would have never done anything to willingly harm him or his team.

"Ziva," he said softly, and this time she didn't try to stop him. "You can't hide from me. That's not going to help anybody."

She took a deep breath.

Tim gently pried her right hand from the steering wheel and held it in his own. "You and me; put us together, we can do anything." She closed her eyes momentarily and more tears fell. He squeezed her hand. "Will you help me?"

She kept her eyes on the road, but her fingers slowly closed around his own.

  
  


**Ziva**

"Comms are out of range, no cell phones. Nothing! I can't get anything." Johnathan was frantic. He kept running from screen to screen in MTAC, unable to find any kind of connection to Tim's missing agents. Ziva could do nothing but watch. She knew that he was working himself so hard out of guilt. All of them were. Sarah was finishing up at the crime scene, Bobby and Palmer were both in their respective labs, and Tim, Matt, and Maxine were going over surveillance video in the bullpen.

Ziva looked at her watch. 4:17 a.m. and no chance of sleep for anyone that did not include a forced sedative.

Her phone broke the silence. She looked at the ID: Security? Why would they be calling? "Hello?" she asked.

"Special Agent David?"

"Yes."

"We have your son down here, asking to come up."

"My—Natanael? What is he doing here?" she said, standing and heading for the door. Death and disaster scenarios were running through her head at the thought of him driving an hour to get here from their home.

"He says he came to see you."

"I will be right there." She hung up. Even as she ran down the stairs and to the elevator, no one looked up. Instead, they all kept their tired, red eyes fixed on the screens.

As soon as the silver doors opened to the ground floor, Ziva sprinted out of them and down the hallway. "Natanael! What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

Natanael stood on the other side of the metal detectors, the hand of the night security guard resting on his shoulder. He was still in his pajamas, sleep pants and an old ratty t-shirt that Tim had given hm. "You sounded worried when you called before." His dark eyes were filled with concern. "I had to make sure you were alright."

Ziva finally reached him and motioned for the guard to let him through. She put her arm around his back and led him back to the elevator. "It is not your job to worry about me, dear. I am the parent."

"What has happened, _doda_?" he asked her calmly. He stopped in his tracks. "You must tell me. I can help."

Ziva shook her head sadly. "No, you can't"

"Please, Ziva." He hugged her, catching her by surprise. "Let me in," he said repeating the words she had said to him so long ago.

Ziva smiled and wrapped her arms around her adopted son. When she had taken him in four years ago, he would not have hugged her, much less spoken to her. He had come so far.

They broke apart and Natanael brushed the tears from her face with his thumbs. Ziva touched the sides of his face. "How did I ever deserve a child as wonderful as you?" she asked him.

"What has happened?" he asked again.

She took a deep breath. "Angel and Shauna have been kidnapped."

His eyes widened in fear. "By who?"

"Do you remember, from the news about those two Sailors that were found murdered?"

He nodded.

"The man who killed them is a serial killer. That is who has them."

"But you have an idea where they are?"

The new look in his eyes was of horror. Too much in his young life.

Ziva drew in another shaky breath and shook her head. "No."

Natanael hugged her again, leaning down to burying his face in her neck. She brushed down his curly hair. "It is alright. We will get them back."

He lifted up his head and allowed himself to be guided to the elevators. Ziva could see now in the way that he walked and the look on his face how tired he was.

She took him up to the main floor and then to the elevator that would take them down to Bobby's lab. Tim looked concerned to see Natanael there, but she nodded her head to indicate that it was alright.

Bobby, who looked ready fall on his face (but was determined not to rest until his dynamic duo was back) offered them the blow-up mattress he'd already set up for himself, saying that he would gladly take the couch when he was done for the night.

When they lay down, Natanael promptly turned on his side and laid his head on Ziva's chest, his long arm draping across her hips. "Is Tim alright?" he asked quietly.

Ziva buried her fingers in his hair. "No. And he will not be until we find them."

She felt him nod, and, a moment later, his breathing evened out and his heart rate began to slow. She stroked his hair as his mere presence lulled her to sleep.

  
  


**McGee**

Tim looked at the clock. 7:33 a.m. It was now Sunday morning, and had been hours since he's seen Ziva walk by with Natanael . He had been so focused, he'd forgotten to try and make her go home.

She really was a great mother, and almost never left him home by himself (perhaps that was what had caused him to come to NCIS in the early hours of morning,) and the last thing Tim wanted was to make Natanael worry. Natanael really liked Shauna, her being still so much of a kid herself. When Ziva invited them all for the picnics and get-togethers she liked to have on their days off, Shauna was the only one who could keep up with the energetic youth, racing and wrestling with him. As for the rest of the team, Angel would bitch about getting old, Sarah always found something to elicit an argument out of her partner, and Matt would just sit and watch, enjoying them all.

It was days like those when the emptiness of his lonely existence would ease to be replaced with the elation of having people who needed him. Dare he say—like a family? Just to sit with Ziva at a table, watching and quietly discussing their teams gave him enough distraction so as not to think about the members of his family that were no longer there. Kate. Ducky. Gibbs.

Tim had already been over the video twice. And there was a lot. He looked around. Matt had passed out at his desk an hour ago and Maxine was spread out on the floor behind him. They had been unwilling to leave each others' presence all night.

Tim stood quietly, careful not to wake them, and left for the coffee shop he frequented in the mornings.

He returned nearly an hour later with a cup for everyone, a box of donuts and a Mountain Dew for Natanael. Ziva would be pissed, but even the kid needed some caffeine too.

He looked into Ziva's team's space as he passed, to see Johnathan sitting at his desk, eyes focused on his computer screen. Tim changed direction and headed to him. "Have you slept at all?" he said, setting a large cup in front of Johnathan's face.

His quick eyes never left the monitor, bouncing from face to face, looking for anything that would help. "Couldn't. No time."

Tim reached across his line of sight and hit the power button, effectively turning the screen black. "You're no good if you can't concentrate. You've been upstairs all night."

Johnathan looked up at him with determined eyes. "You didn't sleep."

"I'm the boss. I'm not supposed to."

"That's a lie."

Tim rolled his eyes.

"If you're not asleep, then why is Ziva?"

"Because her son showed up in the middle of the night. She couldn't leave him alone."

Johnathan tried to stifle a yawn and looked down at the coffee, without touching it. "I should have been paying more attention. I was in charge of operations."

"It's not your fault either."

"Might as well be."

Tim picked up the cup and placed it in Johnathan's hand. "At least take a quick break. Get up. Walk around. Then you can come back and keep going."

He nodded and went to the stairs.

Tim walked around to his space, careful to be quiet, and set the coffee next to Matt's arm. He then sat down at his own desk and opened up the footage again.

  
  


**Shauna**

Shauna leaned back up against the wall with Angel's head in her lap. She was wary of letting Angel sleep, but had agreed to wake her up every hour after Angel had completely schooled her in the number of ways she had been hurt, and insisted that a little sleep would probably do her some good.

The light was slowly becoming brighter outside, bringing the room into better view. The walls were a dull gray, unpainted. The door was solid, of that Shauna was sure. It was obvious they were nowhere near civilization, for no sounds other than the wind and the birds could be heard from the windows.

Shauna leaned her head back against the cool concrete. She felt fine now; the drugs had worn off. And Angel, who had, in fact, had concussions before, would be fine before too long. She just couldn't help thinking about what lay ahead for the two of them and whether McGee really would find them before the inevitable happened. She knew he was good at what he did, but the killer (she refused to call him Dave anymore) was also good. He'd clearly had plenty of practice.

(Another unfortunate thing that Shauna had found in the corner of the room was a bucket. She had wondered what that smell was. They were wary of using it, but it couldn't be helped.)

As the hours passed, Shauna found it harder and harder to believe that they would be rescued quickly.

She just couldn't help but think that she could have been in here alone; likely as many victims before her had been. So why the sudden change? The two Navy officers were dumped within days of each other and in the same general location as well. They must have been in here together. She recalled a class she had taken in college about serial killers. (It was a weekend class, hardly anybody had enrolled.) Serial killers liked patterns, i.e. in the current case, one victim every three to four months. Easy. He had his fun, got to relive it and when he decided that the memories weren't enough anymore, then he'd find another victim. So why so many all at once? The possibility of a copycat could be ruled out, because all the media knew was that two women had been killed. Not even the FBI had realized there was a serial killer.

According to her old professor, serial killers almost never broke pattern, unless something drastic and out of their control affected it. Three main examples were: the possibility of getting caught, the death or sickness of a loved one, or anger at coworkers or society as a whole, influenced by some event. The possibility of getting caught would only cause him to slow down, leaving the second two. The third option was unlikely and difficulty to diagnose. The death of a loved one, however, was the most likely cause for this case.

A death would surely explain the urge to kill more, and, of course, it also made him more vulnerable to detection. It made him sloppy. She looked back up at the windows. If she had to guess, she would say it was getting close to noon, for there were no direct rays of sunlight shining through the windows anymore, just the glow of daylight that she hoped she would be able to see and appreciate again after this was over.

She closed her eyes, ran her fingers through Angel's long blonde hair, and tried to remember a time when she was happy.

_It had been one long, grueling week for Shauna St. Clair. She had been unceremoniously dumped on_ _Special Agent Timothy McGee's team to assist with a murder investigation. One of the team, Matt Jericho, was out sick and would be for a couple weeks._

_Agent McGee, of whom she had heard scary, yet brilliant stories about when it came to solving cases, didn't like new people. And he showed it. He never spoke directly to her. Instead he had Angel de Luca, his Senior Field Agent (a title she liked to hold over Shauna's head at nearly every turn) dictate his wishes (her words) of what he needed done._

_Mostly, it was playing 'phone tag' with the FBI White Collar Crimes Division to try and determine who the suspect would turn to for help in fleeing the county. Once she managed to figure out where he was going, she was then forced to go on a stakeout with none other than Agent de Luca herself, who had a tendency to screw around on the job and take all the credit afterwards. (When Shauna tried to threaten to tell Agent McGee about it, she found herself stunned by the quick response. "Rule One: Never screw over your partner.")_

_After nearly five hours of sitting in a car with binoculars, the suspect showed up, saw them, and tried to rabbit. They chased him through three alleys, two crowded city blocks, and into an in-use shipping warehouse before they finally caught up to him._

_Angel tried to talk him into giving her the gun that had come out of nowhere, but, unsurprisingly, that didn't work. He panicked and shot Angel in the leg. Shauna didn't think; she kicked the gun out of his hand, punched him in the solar plexus, knocking him off his feet. She then held him down while Angel tossed her the handcuffs._

" _You okay?" Shauna asked Angel, who was wrapping her jacked around the wound._

" _Yeah," she said roughly, pulling the knot tight. She looked back up a Shauna. "Good job." She indicated the suspect. "I would have just shot him."_

_The next day, Agent Jericho was back, and Angel, crutches and all (and completely against the doctor's orders) was sitting in the office. It was clearly Shauna's time to leave. She gathered up her things from the empty desk across from Agent McGee's desk and stood between Angel and Matt's desks._

" _Sorry I didn't get the chance to work with you, Agent Jericho." He nodded politely to her. "Agent de Luca," Angel looked up at her with some amusement. "It's been…. Well…interesting."_

_Shauna went to leave, but was stopped by Agent McGee, who had somehow materialized out of thin air right in front of her._

" _Where are you going?" he asked. The first words he'd spoken to her. He had a calm, quiet, albeit intimidating voice, and she had to fight not to stare in awe._

" _Back to Quantico. The analysts office," she managed, although her heart was pounding from the shock._

_His expression did not change, but he shook his head and handed her a large manila envelope. "You're on my team now." he pointed to the desk she had just vacated. "Make yourself at home."_

  
  



	8. Hole Solution

Chapter 8: Hole Solution  
Hole Solution—Android Lust

  
  


_The "what ifs" "if onlies" and "should haves"_ _  
_ _encroach upon my peaceful existence._ _  
_ _Memories from the past_ _  
_ _flood my mind with unwelcome & unwanted images.  
Stand up and walk out of your history._

  
  


  
  


**McGee**

  
  


_Tim stood on Miranda Holdin's closed-in front porch, surrounded by a multitude of green, leafy plants and the occasional blooming flower. He inhaled the scent of fresh potting soil and the pine that made up the floorboards that she'd just gotten replaced. He didn't move for a minute, trying to pull himself together; it wouldn't do for him to lose control now._

_He'd thought that this time, it would work. How could he have been so stupid? He had been so sure that they had both wanted the same thing._

_He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, and thought back to the night before._

" _Tim. We need to talk," Miranda said, from where she sat on the small leather couch in his apartment._

_He smiled lightly from the kitchen, where he had been digging around in the fridge. He stood up and went to sit next her, taking her dainty hands in his. "What is it?" he asked, playing with her ring finger where the modest diamond lay as he usually did._

_She watched his fingers as he did this, smiling sadly, and gently pulled her hand away. She kept her eyes down. "That's what we need to talk about."_

_It was as if Tim's lungs had stopped working. Was this really happening? He gaped at her and said, "Is - is it something I did?"_

_She looked back up at him. Was that pain or fear in her eyes? "Look, McGee."_ McGee? What happened to Tim? _"I just….This isn't working for me."_

_Tim ducked his head down to look her more clearly in the eyes. Regret? "Why not?" he asked._

_Her eyes watered up, but she blinked the tears away. "You're not the right man for me. I never meant for it to go on this long or this far."_

_This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening._

_He stood abruptly, making Miranda gasp. "You mean to tell me that all this time, you let me believe that you loved me? That you let me think that we were going to get married?" She stared up at him with tears in her eyes._ Good, _he thought for the first time in his life._ She needs to feel the pain that I'm feeling right now. How dare she - _"How could you do this to me?"_

 _She stood up, anger overcoming her own features. "How could you do this to_ me _?" She was standing on her toes, trying to appear taller. "You rushed me into all this before I was ready. And I was too nice to say no, because I didn't want to hurt you. I did love you!" she went to leave, but Tim held his arm out, easily stopping her._

" _You didn't have to say yes, you know. If you really didn't want to hurt me, the least you could've done would be to tell me that it wasn't what you wanted. I would've understood."_

" _No, you wouldn't have. You say that, but you know that if I had said no, you would have been gone in a week! All you want is marriage! All you wanted was to get your little ring on my finger, to label me, and look where it got you! Look where it got us!" she pushed his arm out of the way and ran to the door, grabbing her purse on her way._

_She turned around, back to the open door. The fire was gone from her eyes, only to be replaced with hurt. "Because of what we had, I'll give you one last piece of advice." She took a deep breath,_ _reigning in her emotions. "Next time, pay a little more attention to the woman, instead of her finger," she took the engagement ring off and placed it on the kitchen counter, "and maybe then you'll get just what you wanted."_

_With that, she left, closing the door gently behind her. He would have preferred that she had slammed it. At least then it wouldn't have left him feeling empty, as if something was missing._

_He hadn't cried. He just laid down on his couch and didn't sleep. He knew that he was wrong and that's why he was here, standing on her front porch. He knocked on the door before he lost his courage._

_After a pause, she finally answered. She didn't look surprised to see him standing there, but she looked determined to make him leave. He held up his hand in surrender. "I'm not here to yell or guilt you into anything." Her eyes narrowed, suspiciously. "I just wanted to apologize for the way that I acted last night."_

_It was clearly the last thing that she had expected. She stepped outside and closed the door, but they both kept their distance. "You're right. I wasn't paying attention to you, and I'm sorry. It was stupid of me and now I've lost you."_

_"You're right. It was stupid," she said, but there was no venom in her words. She took a deep breath. "But I should've just said no."_

Tim sat bolt upright in his desk chair. After a moment, he remembered where he was and peeled the piece of paper off his face. He looked to his right to see Matt watching him, concern in his dark eyes. "You alright, Boss?"

Tim nodded and blinked a few times, attempting to focus his mind. It had been nearly four years since that night, but he still managed to relive it every once in a while.

"What time is it?" he asked Matt.

Matt looked at his watch. "Almost noon. Thanks for the coffee, by the way," he said, sitting back and rubbing his hand down his face. "I guess you stayed up all night."

Tim grunted in the affirmative. He stood up, trying to get some blood back into his legs. "Anything new?" he asked.

Matt shook his head and lowered his eyes. "Johnathan is running Dave's face through facial recognition, but he hasn't got any hits yet. Maxine and I are still trying to figure out which car is his, but he parked well out of the camera's view. She's-" He glanced behind him. Tim looked over the barrier to see Maxine back at her own desk, asleep on her arms. "She was trying to match vehicles from last night and from last week when the last victim was taken. The camera on the corner near the bar." He cracked his neck. "We just can't seem to get a good lead."

Tim nodded and sat down on the front of his own desk. He looked at Angel's and Shauna's desks. All the electronics were off and there were papers littered everywhere. Angel had left her jacket on the back of her chair yesterday, insisting that it didn't go with her outfit. The skirt and heels that Shauna had taken off still lay on the floor where she had thrown them down when yelling at Angel for being so rough with her.

"Boss?" Matt asked tentatively. Tim looked at him to see him staring at the desks as well. His eyes were red. He probably hadn't slept very long. "Do you think they're-" he closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. Tim didn't say anything.

Matt opened his eyes and looked to the skylight, taking a calming breath. "You know what, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that they're still alive." He rubbed his hands together slowly, thoughtfully and looked to Tim. "Just tell me we'll get them back, Boss."

They looked at each other silently for a minute. Tim knew the odds were against them the longer they went without a lead and Matt knew it as well. But it needed to be said.

"Yeah. We'll get them back."

**Angel**

"Angel. Angel wake up!"

Angel slowly came back to consciousness. Someone was shaking her shoulders, sounded like Shauna. She opened her eyes and took in how much brighter the room they were in had gotten. And how much that hurt her head.

Shauna was patting the side of her face. "What? I'm up. What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up slowly.

"Someone's coming," she whispered, looking at the door with some panic.

Angel stood, clinging to the wall as she did so. "Come on," she said to Shauna, beckoning her to do the same. A door creaked in the distance, echoing off a large cavernous sounding space. Just where exactly were they?

The footsteps got closer and closer, and Shauna grabbed Angel's hand. Angel thought for a second of the knife in her bra, but having it immediately taken away wouldn't help anybody in the long run. They both stood against the wall furthest from the door and waited.

He came in quickly, saw them and took three long strides to get to them. Did he look that intimidating at the bar? He immediately tore Shauna from her grasp and held her up off the ground by her arms.

"Who do you work for?" he shouted in her face. He didn't have a British accent before, did he?

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly.

He threw her down on the ground and went to Angel. He stood inches in front of her with anger in his eyes and spittle flying out of his mouth as he screamed. "I'm not a thick, you know. Normal girls just don't go carrying around sigs like that, and you had communication devices in your ears."

Angel didn't back down. "Maybe, we're just smarter than normal girls." She could see fire burning in his eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Angel saw Shauna try to stand and go for the door. Angel must have given off some tell, because he turned around and grabbed her partner by the middle and threw her roughly against the wall. Shauna did little more than crumple after that.

He turned back and wrapped his hand around Angel's throat. Not enough to completely cut off air, but still enough to hurt. "Think you're clever, do yeh? Who. Do. You. Work. For."

This man was definitely smarter than he looked. He must have been faking an American accent to make himself less noticeable. That sure changed things. Immigration would be able to tell the team who he was in an instant. Too bad no one knew anything about it. Angel looked him straight in the eye, ignoring Shauna's moan. She couldn't do anything to help her right now.

"I heard you talking to someone. Your boss?" he tightened his grip. "Called her 'Shauna.'" He looked down, out of her line of sight. "Thought you said your name was Carrey?" He kicked Shauna, eliciting only a pitiful 'umph.'

Angel tried to hit him back, flailing with her arms and legs, but it was no use. Her oxygen starved body just didn't have the strength, her vision beginning to go fuzzy around the edges.

The unwitting distraction was enough, though, for when he looked back to Angel, Shauna jumped from the ground and hit him in the middle. They went flying to the ground as Angel fell to her knees, gasping for air.

Shauna was on top, and she punched him twice in the face, before he regained his power and tossed her off to the side. Shauna scrambled to get up, but he jumped on her.

In a flash, the fight was over, and 'Dave' stood and stepped up to Angel. Shauna lay on the ground with her eyes closed. Angel wanted to check on her, but 'Dave' stood in the way. "Look," he said, a little trickle of blood running down his chin. "I know you're cops, so why don't you just tell me who you work for, and I'll pay them a little visit."

Angel knew a lie when she heard one, but she had been tortured before. She took one long, painful breath of air and slowly shook her head. He wasn't allowed to go near anymore of her friends.

**McGee**

"Why are we not getting anywhere?" Tim said, pacing back and forth in the bullpen. It was nearly six in the evening and not one of them had been home in over twenty-four hours. "There has to be something!"

"Boss, we have very little to go on," Matt sat back from his computer and stretched. Tim had only seen him get up from his desk twice all day. "Johnathan can't narrow down the search criteria for facial recognition and Maxine and Sarah are having to run all the plates from the video separately." Tim looked over the barrier at the Ziva's team. They too were working diligently.

Matt was uncannily calm. It was the way that he was trained by the Agency. 'Don't panic. Do everything possible to carry out the mission.' Now the mission was to save his partners. "And what are you doing?" Tim asked.

"I'm looking at all the video we've got of him."

"Looking for what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Guess I'll know it when I find it." He looked up at Tim. "Something just seems off."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. His voice? Maybe…. I can't tell."

Tim sighed. More like Matt was trying to learn all his mannerisms so that he would be better at fighting him when the time came. Or killing him.

Matt had told him once about how the agents were trained in the CIA. When they got a live target, they were forced to memorize everything about them. Their name, their face, the way they moved, the way they spoke. If the target breathed differently, the agents were meant to notice. Anything that would set them apart from the crowd. And Matt was very good.

"Have you seen Ziva?"

Matt looked up from the screen. "Umm… I think she's down with Bobby."

"And Natanael?"

Matt nodded. "She's trying to keep him distracted since he won't go home."

Tim shook his head. That kid was determined. "Alright. I'll be down there." He leaned down in front of Matt and looked him in the eye. "Please take a break. Don't make me order you."

He nodded once.

Tim stepped out of the stairwell next to Bobby's lab. He hadn't been very fond of using the elevator much since…well…. He rolled his neck around his shoulders and leaned back against a wall. It was his job to be strong and keep his friends from breaking down, and that included Natanael. Ziva had informed him that her son looked up to him much more than Tim expected.

_It was after dark as Tim drove down the city streets near Ziva's house. Natanael hadn't shown up after school and Ziva really didn't know what to do. She was still new to this whole parenting thing._

_Tim had called in his team to help in the search. He knew that eventually Natanael would come back, kids always did (if Tim's childhood was anything to go by), but it wouldn't be safe to let him stay out in the city overnight. They had four cars out looking for him: Tim, Matt and Angel, Maxine and Sarah, and Ziva._

_Tim had been out for almost six hours, and getting a little worried himself, when he finally found him. He almost didn't see Natanael at first, he was sitting in the shadows next to the front steps of a house, knees drawn up to his chest and his head down. When Tim got out of his car and shut the door, Natanael's head snapped up. He had obviously been asleep. It took him a minute to recognize Tim, but when he did, he only closed himself up more._

_Tim approached him slowly and sat down. Natanael didn't say anything. He was shivering slightly, so Tim gave him his jacket. "Ziva's worried sick, you know. She was so scared you were dead."_

_"Death would be a relief to me now," Natanael said quietly in his thick accent._

_Tim had had a feeling that was coming. "Don't you think that's a little selfish?"_

_Natanael looked at Tim, almost in shock._

_He continued. "Look, I know it's hard. You're parents are gone, you're in a completely different world, and you feel like nobody understands you. But tell me how dying would solve any of that. Wouldn't your_ _mother and father want you to be happy?"_

_He remained silent. Tim could make out dried tear stains on his cheeks._

_"And what about Ziva?" Nathanael's jaw clenched at her name. "She loves you so much, Natanael. And she wants to help you. We both want to help."_

_He took in one deep breath of the city air and nodded. "Okay."_

_Tim put his arm around Nathanael's shoulders and pulled out his phone to call Ziva._

_When she got there, they both cried, clinging to each other in the middle of the street. After a while, they went to leave, but before Natanael got in the car, he ran to Tim and hugged him tightly, followed by Ziva._

_"Thank you, Tim," she whispered. "Thank you so much."_

_Tim finally strode into the lab. "Tim!" Natanael called out and ran to him, hugging him around the neck. "Are you okay?"_

_Natanael was a very straightforward person; that's what Tim loved about him. He wrapped his arms around Nathanael's back and saw Ziva looking at them both fondly._

_Tim sighed heavily. "I'm okay, kid," he said calmly. "How are you holding up?"_

_"I am fine," he said into Tim's shoulder. "I know you will get them back."_

_"I hope so." They let go. "Have you gotten anything new?" he asked Bobby, who was standing in front of the computer terminal._

_Bobby sighed and shook his head. "I'm still trying to track down the soil sample. It didn't match Rock Creek Park. I think I found some on our last victim, but there wasn't enough to confirm." He turned back to the screen and handed Tim a piece of paper—a printout from the mass spec. "There's an excess of sulfites and sulfates, but that's not very unique for around here. Maybe if I had more, I could figure it out, but…"_

_"So, nothing yet?"_

"Well, I'm also trying to track down the dealer of the rohypnol. Metro has the same chemical composition on file, but it's from their last victim and they have less than we do." He looked at Tim, and then at Ziva, who were both raising their eyebrows. "No. Nothing yet. But I really am trying. I just need more evidence."

Tim nodded and turned to Ziva. "You been down to see Palmer yet?"

She nodded. "He has nothing new either. The new victim's injuries are exactly the same as the previous two. She was beaten, she fought back, and then she was strangled."

Tim looked at Natanael, who was standing beside him. His eyes were cast down and Tim saw his swallow anxiously.

Tim clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Come on. Why don't me, you, and Ziva go get something to eat and then bring dinner back for everyone?"

Natanael nodded and smiled half-heartedly. Ziva grabbed his jacket and helped him put it on. They had gone home for lunch and to change.

"I like hamburgers!" Bobby called as the exited the lab. "Lots of ketchup!"


	9. 24

**Chapter Nine: 24** **  
**24—JEM

  
  


_When I thought I've been learning how to live, I've been learning how to die._

  
  


**Shauna**

"You know what this place reminds me of?" Angel asked, interrupting the nearly deafening silence.

Shauna sighed from where she lay flat on the ground next to her partner. "What's that?"

Angel's eyes scanned the room again. She swallowed dryly. "It reminds me of the last time I was kidnapped. You remember that…that bunker you found me in?" she said weakly, with a slur that had become progressively worse since she had woken up.

Shauna grinned a little at the irony. "Uh, yeah. I also remember that you were in there by yourself for so long that you started hallucinating. You came flying at me and Matt when we opened the door, because you thought that we were evil bats come to suck your blood."

"Yeah," said Angel fondly. She had a twisted little grin which did not complement the cross-eyed look she kept giving Shauna. "Good times."

"You broke two of Matt's ribs."

"Aww, Secret Agent Mattie could handle it."

Shauna rolled her eyes. "Do you want to know what it reminds me of?"

Angel shrugged.

"A box."

Angel hummed, and swallowed thickly again. She hadn't moved more than an inch since waking, and if the bruises on nearly all her exposed skin were anything to go by, Shauna didn't blame her. Angel had tried to downplay her injuries when Shauna asked, but the hitch in her breathing, the deep gash in her left leg, and the lethargic look in her eyes proved that she had been brutally beaten while Shauna was unconscious.

"You know…you know what, Probie?" Angel said.

"What?" Shauna said looking back up at the ceiling. She wasn't too badly injured herself, but a small cut on the back of her head still continued to bleed sluggishly, no matter what she did to it.

"We don't talk much."

Shauna raised her eyebrows. "Yes we do."

"No, we don't. I - I mean, sure we talk about…we talk about work and the I torture you about your love life-"

"Or lack thereof."

"Yes. And sometimes we team up to annoy Mattie," apparently she had taken to using the nickname she had given him a long time ago, "but we don't ever talk about the important stuff."

"I told you about my baby."

Angel paused. "Yeah, I guess you did. It just took you three years."

Shauna drug her tongue around her dry mouth thoughtfully. The lack of water from the previous day beginning to take it's toll. "And what else is important?"

"Well," said Angel with cough. "What's your favorite color?"

"My favorite color?"

"Yeah. Hell, we've been partners for a while now and I don't even know your favorite color. How s-stupid is that?" she said with a slight shudder and a sharp intake of breath. Shauna's heart clenched at the thought of her partner in pain. What really concerned her was the fact that Angel didn't seem to have the presence of mind to hide the discomfort like she normally would have.

Shauna contemplated her partner's new-found sense of perspective while also noticing the feel of Angel's bare shoulder against her own. Warm, soft, but trembling. Probably, she was hurt much worse than Shauna could even gauge, and her concussed brain had convinced itself that the time was ripe to question it's own mortality.

Shauna was worried. Angel wasn't exactly young, and based on the injuries, Shauna wasn't sure she had much of a chance of coming out of this on the other side. What if McGee didn't find them? What if they had to escape on their own? Could Angel even make it?

Would Shauna have to... leave her behind? No. absolutely not. Shauna was a good cop. And being a good cop meant protecting others no matter what the cost.

But what if escape was the only way out?

"Shauna?"

"What?"

"Answer the question. What's your favorite color?"

Shauna smiled, but it felt heartless. "Um, I don't know… orange?"

"Orange?" Angel said quietly, but with all the indignation she could muster. "What the hell kind of favorite color is that?"

"Seems perfectly reasonable to me."

"But orange? It's so plain…simple. Boring. There has to be more t-to it than that."

"Okay, then. What yours?"

Angel suddenly god deadly serious as she thought about her answer. She winced as she tried to take a deep breath and Shauna noticed the bruises around her throat had become darker with time. Broken ribs, irritated trachea.

Maybe they should try to escape. There was no way to guarantee that they would be found alive (no matter what Angel said). But with Angel's leg injured and the serious threat of a punctured lung, getting away could be more dangerous than just waiting for help.

Should they even try?

Shauna was brought back by the quiet deep tone of her partner's voice. "You know that color that leaves turn what the sun shines straight through them? I think that's my favorite. It's a very unshakeable sort of color. Kind of like McGee. You can't always see it, but if you look at it just right, if you," another, louder cough, "if you catch him off guard, you know that he does what he does because he cares."

"That's very sentimental. For you."

Angel shrugged as best she could, her eyes blinking sleepily. "I have my moments."

"He will find us, you know?"

Angel nodded stiffly. "I'm glad you believe that, Probie. And I'm sure he will find _you_."

"He'll find you, too," Shauna said, looking at Angel in disbelief. "It's not like you to give up. Ever."

Angel let out some sort of cynical breath of air. "Babe, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not doing too good."

Shauna shook her head in denial as Angel closed her eyes tightly from some pain she couldn't see, ignoring the fact that she had been subconsciously cataloging Angel's injuries for the past half hour, and disregarding all previous thoughts to the contrary.

"You're going to be fine, Angel. You just need to hold on." She got up on one elbow to look Angel in her pale blue, teary eyes. "Don't you dare give up on me."

Angel swallowed painfully again, the tears breaking free and leaving streaks in the grime on her face. Her lips parted slightly and she took in a quick, shaky breath.

Shauna nearly froze. This was easily the most vulnerable she had ever seen her partner. Angel let out a small whimpering sob, which only made the tears flow faster, and Shauna laid her hand on the side of Angel's face. She then did the only thing she knew would at least shock Angel into some semblance of calm, and leaned down and placed her lips gently on her partner's.

The effect was immediate. Her breathing slowed and the trembling even stopped. Shauna only had to wait a moment before she felt Angel smile and she drew her head back. Angel's eyes were closed, a peaceful, yet slightly contemptible, look on her face.

Shauna carefully wrapped her arm loosely around Angel's middle and laid her head down so that her forehead rested against Angel's neck. If she ever lived that down, it would be the happiest day of her life.

Angel was quick to fall asleep after that, and so Shauna's thoughts turned back to escape. There was no way that Angel would be able to stand, much less walk back to civilization.

Shauna could honestly say that she had never been so scared in her life. But it appeared that she only had two options. She just hoped that it wouldn't come to either. Either stay and hope that McGee would find them in time, or leave Angel behind - her chest constricted at the thought - and run as fast as she could for help. Neither was particularly agreeable. And the possible outcomes in which they both wound up surviving were far and in between. Angel's prospects weren't looking too good, but Shauna couldn't just sit and wait for her to die; which was the only possible outcome if they weren't found soon. She had to find a way to make sure that Angel survived.

  
  


**McGee**

Maxine had literally had to drag Matt away from his desk, and then drove him home for some fresh clothes and a shower (and possibly more, from what Tim could see), yet both had insisted on coming right back to the office.

Sarah, bless her heart, had gone back to the bar and taken Johnathan with her. They all knew that they could hold out no hope of Dave coming back anytime soon, but maybe someone, anyone, there might remember something about him.

Tim stood with Ziva leaning against the railing just above the bullpen. Nothing they had done so far had worked. Multiple searches were still being run by the MTAC night crew to find anything that would help. LEOs were still on the ground, searching for any sign. Contact after contact of his and Ziva's team's were doing all they could, and there was really nothing they could do but wait.

"They are so very strong," Ziva said softly.

Tim glanced over at her and then back down to Matt and Maxine. They both sat within a foot of each other, but facing opposite directions. Matt was still obsessively going through video at his desk, and Maxine had taken up the shelf space behind him, her phone cord stretching over the barrier, talking to Metro, checking up, and basically annoying everyone into compliance.

That was usually Angel's job.

Tim cleared his throat, stemming the hurt, and nodded. They were all so determined to see their friends back safe, and none were giving up. Just like they were trained.

  
  


_Tim drove. He practically flew down the two-lane freeway, while Shauna, going from the look on her face, did all she could not to scream at the speed._

_"Yes, I'm still here!" she yelled into the phone. "What? They haven't checked in either?" She paused while the other person on the line spoke. "What the hell is that supposed to mean,_ _'they're U.S. Marshal's, they can take care of themselves,'_ _? Don't you care?"_

_Tim snagged the phone from her grip. "When did you last hear from them?" he asked calmly._

_"About an hour ago," said the Marshals' supervisor. "But they're in the middle of nowhere, I'm surprised you still have reception. And I'm sure if they've hit some trouble, they can take care of it. We're stretched thin enough here as it is."_

_What Tim really wanted to do was shout at the man for being an incompetent moron, but all he said was, "Look, I don't know how it works wherever the hell you are, but when I tell my team to check in, they check in. And if they didn't, it means that something has gone seriously wrong with your witness transfer." He snapped the phone shut._

_Shauna looked up at Tim with wide eyes. "Do you really think something's happened, Boss?"_

_He sighed. "Just keep calling them," he said, and pushed his foot down further._

_Nothing could ever be simple when it came to Angel and Matt. All they were meant to do was drive a hundred miles out into the New Mexican desert, hand a witness off to a couple of Marshals, and come back._

_They had made their first half-hour check in, but after the second came and went, Shauna and Tim were out the door. Miles and miles of barren, dusty highways and no possibility of help for at least an hour._

_Tim's 'gut' seemed to be trying to tell him something. His mind was going a thousand miles an hour with the thought that something terrible had happened, guilt from yelling at Angel before she'd left, and, not surprisingly, hunger. But he threw the last away; he would eat when his team was back home, safe in D.C._

_"Boss, look!" Shauna shouted, pointing a ways up the road to an old abandoned looking building just off the highway with four SUVs parked out in front._

_"Two of them are government cars," Shauna yelled, sticking her head about two feet out of the window. A loud sound like a gunshot broke through the wind. "One of them has to be ours." She took her Sig in her right hand, her left holding tightly to the window frame and knees in the seat._

_Tim sped the last fifty feet up to the entrance drive and made a hard right._

_There was a gun battle going on. Five unfriendlies hid behind car doors, firing into what was now clearly a rundown barn. They were so engrossed with the fight, that none of them noticed the fifth car._

_Tim skidded to a halt, grabbed the shotgun from the gun rack behind his head, and got out of the car._

_One shot was all it took from the bigger gun, louder than all the rest. All five bad guys were caught off guard and ducked._

_"Federal Agents!" Shauna yelled, gun steady, from where she had climbed up onto the hood of the car, getting herself a better view and commanding attention. "Drop the weapons!"_

_Dumbfounded, they all did as they were told. At that instant, Matt, Angel, and another tall blonde (one of the Marshals) burst through the side door of the barn and assisted in securing the prisoners. They were quickly handcuffed and lined up, with Shauna standing guard._

_Tim turned to give his agents a once over. Matt had what was probably just a graze on his right arm. Angel was panting from the adrenaline, just like everyone else, but otherwise appeared unharmed. The blonde Marshal's hands, however, were covered in a thick layer of blood. She had a panicked, harried look in her eyes as she threw the last prisoner to the ground and then ran back inside._

_"Boss!" Matt said, gesturing for Tim to follow him inside. "Her partner's wounded. Shot in the chest. Please tell me you have an ambulance on the way."_

_"No, but let's get him in the car." Tim looked around as he stepped through the doors. The blonde Marshal was kneeling in front of her partner who was laid on a wooden bench, brushing the hair out of his damp face with her fingers. She muttered a few words to him and he nodded. There was another body lying a few feet from the door. Their witness, Aiden McMillan, very much dead._

_They got the second, very tall, very hurt Marshal into the back of the NCIS Suburban and Matt and the blonde Marshal sped off into the sunset._

_Tim turned to Angel and, not so much asked, but glared the question of, "What the hell happened here?"_

_Angel took a deep breath and attempted to wipe some sweat off her brow, but only wound up smearing more dirt. "Our radiator busted." She held up her hand at Tim's question. "There's no signal out here, Boss. Check your phone. We pulled in here, and the witness flipped out. He started saying something about this not being the plan, and 'they're gonna kill me.' Looks like he set us up for an ambush." She swiped at her forehead again, trying and failing to keep the sweat at bay. Her hands were shaking and nervous tension was rolling off her in waves. "Anyway, that's when the Marshals showed up. We were just deciding what to do when we were attacked." She pointed towards the criminals. "They all came out of nowhere and tried to kill us—"_

_"We weren't try—" One of the men shouted and went to stand._

_Shauna stepped in front of him, and said, "Stay down or I shoot."_

_Tim looked back to Angel. She said, "We tried to fight them off behind the cars, but we got pushed back into the barn. Me, Matt, and the female Marshal made it, but McMillan panicked. The other Marshal tried to drag him, but then he got hit in the chest. Matt told me to hold his partner back and he just ran out there." Another deep breath. "The witness was already dead, but Matt dragged the Marshal inside and went to go back for the witness. I tried to make him stop, but he just went all double o' seven and…." She sighed and looked over to Shauna who was staring at her in shock. Angel cleared her throat. "He almost made it in the door when he got grazed. The idiot just didn't give up."_

  
  


"Boss! Boss, I've got it!" Matt shouted in the late night quiet, making Tim jump. He was staring at his computer in amazement and gesturing for Tim and Ziva to come downstairs. They quickly went down and gathered around Matt's desk.

"What is it?" Tim asked, heart thrumming.

"He's British!" Matt said, excitedly. He paused for effect, but when nobody said anything, he sighed and pushed play on the audio.

Tim listened. "I don't hear it. He sounds American."

"Well, clearly it's a fake, but you can hear it in the way he phrases his sentences. And listen to this," he said selecting a different section. "You hear how he slipped up and said 'caun't' instead of 'can't'? most people would probably just see it as him just jumbling his words up. Also," a different section, "see how he has some trouble pronouncing the 't's' at the end of words. That could be a Londoner, but I might be wrong."

Ziva still wasn't convinced. "That is not very damning evidence."

Matt huffed, becoming more expressive than usual. "Boss," he turned to Tim. "I was trained in identifying country of origin based on accents in the Agency. I knew there was something off from the start; I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I know what I'm talking about." He continued to stare desperately at Tim. "Do you trust me?"

Tim swallowed uncomfortably. Initially, when Matt was assigned to the team, Tim had had a bit of trouble seeing beyond his past in the C.I.A., but Tony had insisted on giving him a chance. And, of course, Tony was right. Matt was quite the example of why someone should never be held to what they used to be.

He sighed. "Of course I trust you. But how exactly does this help?"

"Well," Matt thought only for a second. "Has anybody ran his face through Interpol?"

After a moment's silence Tim ran back to his desk and Maxine hung up her phone and started dialing again. "Johnathan, thank God. Got a question for you." She paused. "Come on, man. This is important. Just go and stand in the corner. What databases have you run the suspect's picture throught?"

Tim pulled up the Interpol database and had loaded Dave's picture into it within seconds.

"Maxine, put it on speaker," said Matt.

"— _tried the FBI, DMV—"_

"What about Interpol?" Maxine asked. "Anything international?"

"Well, um, no, but I was gonna try that next. I'm still not even finished with all the American databases. Why?"

"He's from Britain, John," said Matt. "Did you check passports coming in near D.C.?"

" _Yes, but I've only been able to go back five years. Nothing helpful."_

"Thanks, Johnathan." Maxine hung up.

Ziva stepped around Tim's desk to stand by his side. "Do you have it?" she asked, watching as the photographs flashed past, looking for a match.

Tim clenched his jaw. "There's a lot to go through. Can you narrow it down anymore, Matt?"

"I don't know. He's—he's probably been here a while. He has the vernacular down pat. He might have come here when he was younger. How old would you say he is?"

"Thirty, thirty-five?" Maxine said.

"Closer to thirty-five, I believe," said Ziva, leaning closer to the screen.

"Okay, so try 2000 through 2010," Matt suggested.

Ziva shook her head. "'95 is better. We do not want to narrow it down too much, but you are right; he uses American words so easily. He came here as a child."

Tim widened the specifications, and then sat back. "It could still take a while." Tim looked up at Ziva. "You should tell Sarah and John to go home. We can't do anything more tonight."

She nodded, and stepped away, pulling her phone from her pocket.

Tim glanced over to Matt and Maxine. Matt placed his hand on Maxine's shoulder and squeezed in a comforting gesture and muttered something quietly. "You guys should probably get out of here too," Tim said.

Matt turned and gave him a hard look. "Have you even been home since this started, Boss?"

Tim sighed and ran a hand across his eyes. "Just do what I say, Jericho."

Matt looked like he would argue, but then he gave it up as a lost cause.

Tim leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He listened as Matt gathered his things, and put on his jacket. He and Maxine left together.

Minutes later, a softer set of footsteps came to stand beside Tim again. Ziva's soft hand gently touched the side of his face and he opened his eyes. She gazed down at him steadily. "Bobby is gone, but he left the bed inflated."

He closed his eyes again when she brushed his cheek with her thumb. "Even you need to sleep sometime."

Tim took a deep breath, but still he couldn't let go of the fear. "I just want them back," he said, much more sadly than he'd meant to.

"I know. Come on. You can send the search to Bobby's computer." He did so and she gently pulled him to his feet and led him to the stairs. Tim wrapped an arm around her waist as they descended.

"Where is Natanael?" he asked.

"He is at a friend's house."

"So it's just you and me, huh?"

Ziva smiled. "Yes."

  
  



	10. It's Only Life

**Chapter Ten: It's Only Life**

It's Only Life—Kate Voegele

  
  


_If I could reach up and hold a star_   
_for every time you made me smile_   
_I would have the whole night sky_   
_in the palm of my hand_

  
  


  
  


It wasn't supposed to end this way.

Tim should've busted down the door, gun in hand, and saved the day like he always does.

He should have saved them both.

It's only life, she thought, laying unmoving on the grimy floor. Contrary to popular belief, it really is easy to take a life. In this case, constant pressure on the trachea for about thirty seconds, assuming the victim was too weak or too injured to throw the attacker off to throw you off and fight back.

She wouldn't open her eyes. Because opening her eyes would force her to face the reality.

The plan hadn't worked.

Her partner was dead.

  
  


**Shauna**

It was one hell of a stupid, half-assed plan. Dangerous, risky, unlikely to work and generally just stupid.

It was Angel's idea.

Sure, Shauna had been considering it herself (and she had to admit, it was the only real option that they had) but it was still stupid. Mainly because it involved possibly leaving Angel here, alone, to fend for herself against a soon-to-be-enraged killer psychopath.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"Alright, let's go through this again," Angel said, propped up against the wall. "You have the knife. We wait for him to come through the door, you stab him. If you think you can overpower him, then do it, but if not, I want you to run as fast as you can. Try to get to his car, but if you can't, then just hightail it to civilization."

She looked hard at Shauna. "If that happens, you have to leave me here, Shauna, I mean it. Our only chance is if you make it back."

Shauna bit back what she really wanted to say and just nodded. She knew what Angel was trying to do: she would risk losing her life to save Shauna. And what could Shauna do about it but let it happen?

Angel very well couldn't take her place. She couldn't even stand up by herself; her injured leg was swollen, probably infected, and it hurt her to breathe too deeply. She was, however, currently in the right frame of mind, the concussion having mostly gone away, but there was no way that she could get away on her own.

It was morning again. Monday morning. 'Dave' hadn't come back the night before. Thank God. They had both slept throughout the night, albeit, not very peacefully. Angel looked at her weirdly every once in a while, as if she really did remember the kiss. Shauna almost smiled. She wasn't embarrassed, and Angel obviously knew it was just to calm her down, but it would be tough to explain to everyone when they got out of here.

If they got out of here, that was.

Angel rolled her head from side to side, trying to work out some kinks and then leaned her head back against the wall. "Hey, do you remember that time when we crashed the car?"

Shauna thought back. "Vaguely. Why?" she asked raising her eyebrows.

She shrugged. "No reason. Just remembering."

Shauna looked at her sadly. 'Just remembering' being code for 'thinking back in case I die.' "Yeah, I remember you were driving."

Angel smiled good-naturedly. "Doesn't mean it was my fault."

"Whatever. We almost died."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Di—" Shauna stopped herself, realizing what they were doing. Angel just laughed.

Shauna sighed, but then laughed when she remembered more. "I've never heard Matt cuss like that."

"The man sure as hell did not like being woken up because I chose not to kill an innocent little squirrel."

"Yeah, he was pretty mad, wasn't he?"

"Well, at least it was a viable emotion," Angel said, rolling her eyes. "He needs to learn how to open up. Six years and I've only seen him smile a handful of times."

Shauna thought a moment before she spoke again. "So what was he like when you first met him?"

"Where do I start." She scoffed and started ticking off her fingers. "Emotionally distant, almost never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary, never found _anything_ I said funny. I really don't know what those people over a Langley did to him, but I'm glad he finally decided to get out. Though come to think of it, he never actually said what happened to make him quit."

"Must have been bad," Shauna speculated.

Angel shrugged again. "Well I'm sure McGee knows. I mean, Tony was team leader at the time, but I'm sure the Boss would have found out somehow."

Shauna was now intrigued. "Now, you've told me about Tony before, and I've met him a couple of times, but what about Gibbs? He's supposed to have been even better than McGee. Is that even possible?"

Angel smiled, even as her eyes drooped sadly. "Well, you're right on that. McGee is a very close second, but Gibbs was the best. I was the Probie on his team for two years before he died."

Shauna settled in for the story. Though she would never admit it, she always enjoyed listening to Angel talk.

"Tony didn't like me very much. He kind of saw me as Ziva's replacement—he was in love with her, you know. And also he got kind of offended when I stole the girl right from under his nose on occasion." She giggled. "I even took Abby out once. Kind of funny when you consider the end result."

Shauna laughed.

"But Gibbs," Angel said with awe. "He was amazing. Best boss I'd ever had—not including McGee, mind you. But he was good. It was like he was psychic, and I'm not so sure he wasn't; you think McGee knows everything, but he learned that from Gibbs. Our team had the highest case closed rate in NCIS history, and that is saying something. But, yeah. He always knew who was guilty just by looking at them, and he was even better than Matt at making them confess.

"And even in his fifties, he was still quicker than any of us. You could always count on him to be right around the corner when you were chasing a suspect and to take him down with his bare hands. And you should have seen him with his sniper rifle. Best I've ever seen. Twelve hundred feet. And-" she suddenly looked up at the open window.

Shauna heard it too: the engine of 'Dave's' car. Time to put their plan into action.

  
  


**McGee**

A loud beeping woke Tim from his slumber.

He slowly opened his eyes, and smiled when he noticed the unfamiliar weight of Ziva's head on his chest. Her hair was frizzy and probably hadn't been really brushed well in the past couple of days, but he liked it. It reminded him of how she used to wear it when he'd first met her. All tangled and wild and beautiful.

He brushed it tenderly away from her face to wake her up, smiling as he did so. She opened her big brown eyes and looked into his, smiling as well, but that quickly turned to a frown. Her eyes became more alert as they shot to the computer in the main lab. "How long has that been going off?" she asked.

Tim followed her gaze, and within seconds, they had jumped up, fought with the too-slow motion-sensing door, and skidded to a halt in front of the computer terminal.

'Dave's', or rather William Frankland's face was flashing rapidly on the screen. Tim quickly stopped the alarm and brought up the records, and read aloud. "Born in London in 1988 to Tara and Thomas Frankland. Father died when William was fifteen and his mother and him moved back to Virginia to stay with a grandmother by the name of Jennette Harper." Tim scrolled down and brought up another document. "Currently lives in D.C. Looks like he moved back in with his mother who was dying—or rather died of liver cancer six months ago."

"Well that would explain why the sudden outburst of killing," Ziva said. "It does not look like he has moved since."

Tim ran back to Bobby's office to grab their shoes and jackets. "Print that out," he called, pulling on his socks and boots. He came out minutes later and placed Ziva's leather slip-ons in front of her feet and her jacket over her shoulders. "I'll go get the car started. Meet me out front."

Ziva just nodded, clicking the mouse fervently and blindly attempting to put her shoes on with just her feet.

Tim drove faster than he probably should have for an interview. And it wasn't made any better by the fact that he had no clue as to what he should say when they arrived.

"Do you think that maybe we should just follow him?" he asked Ziva uncertainly.

She looked just as unsure as he did. "Well," she checked her watch. "It is about seven thirty in the morning, so if he has a job he should be heading out." She shrugged. "We cannot very well go up and ask him where he keeps his victims." She looked back at the road and pointed quickly. "Left up here."

Tim skidded slightly, trying to comply. He slowed down as he made his way down the street. "Does he have a place of employment in his records?" he asked.

Ziva shuffled through the papers. "No…. Wait, yes! Looks like he is a security supervisor for a law firm in Anacostia. Has been for the past year."

Tim nodded. "You could ask Johnathan and Matt to scope out the place; Frankland's never seen them before. We need to stay here and check out his house."

"Right," she said, and made the calls.

Tim found the correct address and stopped a few houses down. It was well-kept. The remnants of a garden surrounded by a short stone fence made itself known in the side yard; probably his mother's. There was a rusty-looking awning in the back yard, with an open air work bench, and a few tools scattered around on a table, and some plywood planks. The neighborhood was nice too, nothing too fancy, but all the lawns were mowed and the surrounding houses looked cozy, if not a little old-fashioned.

"They are on their way." Ziva put down her phone and looked at the house. "His car is still here, so he hasn't left yet." The car was a dark green older model GMC Yukon.

Tim took a look at the license plate. "AKL539." He typed it into his phone. "Well no wonder we couldn't find it. It's in his mother's name. He might not even have a license." he searched again on his phone. No results.

Tim and Ziva lulled into a silence. There wasn't much they could do now but wait.

After nearly twenty minutes, Ziva's phone rang, causing both occupants of the car to flinch. She answered it quickly. "David."

Tim could hear Matt's voice speaking slowly and calmly on the line, but couldn't make out what he was saying. Ziva's face slowly became more worried as she listened, and then she hung up without saying a word. She looked to Tim. "Matt says he called in sick yesterday. Said he would be out for a couple of days."

Tim looked back to the house. "So d'you think he's in there? He might have another car?"

Ziva shook her head as if to say she didn't know.

Tim reached for his door handle and got out of the car. "Come on. He might not be hiding them in there, but I'll make him talk. I don't care what I have to do."

He heard Ziva's door snap shut, and she was behind him in an instant, pulling at his arm. "Tim, you cannot go barging in there. If you scare him, he might never tell you where they are." He didn't stop, so she jumped in front of him, and pushed her hand into his chest. "The best thing we can do right now is wait for him to leave and then follow him. He will lead us straight to them."

Tim shook his head. "He's hurt my girls, Ziva," he growled. "He's had them for two days. I know what happens during that time." He tried to push past her, but Ziva blocked his way.

"I know it hurts, Tim. But you have to listen to me. You cannot strong-hand this."

"It's strong-arm Ziva, and yes I can." He swept past her and marched up to the house. He turned back to Ziva from the porch and motioned for her to go around back. She huffed indignantly, but did what she was told. He would apologize later.

Tim knocked on the door without saying anything. It would be better for Tim if Frandland didn't know they were cops. There was no answer. Tim knocked again.

"Hello," he called out. He thought quickly. "Electric company."

Still nothing. He walked over to the widow next to the door and peered in. The house was clean enough, save for a TV dinner plate and a metal fork sitting on the coffee table and a few books on one of the chairs. Tim tried the door. Locked.

He could see into the kitchen. Totally clean. A shadow suddenly crossed the window on the back door and Tim's heart jumped for a second before he recognized Ziva. She leaned down with something in her hands and moments later the door swung open.

She quickly made her way to the front door and opened it for him. "He is not here. The bedroom is empty, and the bed is slept in. He must have left in another vehicle before we got here."

Tim seethed. He's probably with Angel and Shauna right now. "Damn it," he muttered as he stepped inside the house.

He and Ziva made their way through the house. The bed was indeed slept in, the thick blanket kicked to the floor. Tim scanned the room with his eyes for anything worth looking at. Nothing obvious. "Ziva!" he called.

He pulled out a plastic evidence bag from a pocket and scratched some dirt into it with his switchblade.

"Yes?" she came into the room.

"Did you find anything?" he asked, putting the shoe back where he found it.

She shook her head. "He's just been shopping: the fridge is full, so he has been here. But other than that, nothing important. What about you?"

Tim shook his head. "We need someone to keep this house under surveillance so we can follow him when he comes back."

Ziva nodded and pulled out her phone as they made their way out the back door.

  
  


**Shauna**

Shauna's heart thrummed as they listened to the car turn off and the door slam. He sounded angry.

Angel sat where she was on the floor, unable to do anything but watch. Shauna stood, back against the wall, right where the door would open to, knife in hand.

They both jumped when they heard the familiar sound of a door in the distance, echoing off the large space their room was in. Shauna tensed, preparing for what she was about to do. It had never been easy for her to take a life, but with him, with 'Dave', she knew it would be. He had hurt Angel. It was fairly simple after that.

The sound of footsteps got louder and closer and Shauna readied herself. She looked over at Angel. "I love you, partner."

Angel smiled and nodded. "Love you, too."

Seconds left. He was almost to the door. Shauna plastered herself to the wall and raised the hand with the knife. 'Dave' threw open the door and barged in, not checking his surroundings. Better for them then.

Shauna quickly stabbed the knife into his chest with all the force she had. 'Dave' yelled in anguish and fell to his knees. Shauna tried to pull the knife back out to stab him again, but he grabbed a hold of her wrist and squeezed, looking at her with fire in his eyes.

Shauna acted fast. She drove her knee upward into his nose, and grabbed his head from behind, shoving his head hard into the ground.

She stood back up and stared for a moment at what she had done. 'Dave' lay unmoving on the ground, blood pooling in front of his face. _I can't believe that worked_ , she thought.

"Shauna!" Angel's voice broke through. She looked at her. "Come on. Help me up." She said, holding out a hand.

Shauna ran over, pulled Angel's arm around her shoulders. "God you're heavier than I remember."

"Ha ha," Angel said sarcastically, but with a hint of a smile on her face. She groaned when she tried to put weight on her left leg. "Let's just go."

They avoided 'Dave's' prone body on the floor as they made their way through the door, and stopped for a moment to take it in. The only light came in from the extra wide door on the other end of the building, about fifty yards away, illuminating two long rows of what looked like horse stalls.

Angel laughed mirthlessly. "I had a feeling it was a barn."

"Come on," Shauna said, helping Angel to hop out of the building, and forcing herself to ignore the way that Angel whimpered every time she was jostled too much. And because of that she wasn't prepared for Angel to cry out and go nearly limp in her arms. "Angel! What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said with barely a whisper. She pushed herself up with her good leg, but it wasn't as strong as before. "Let's go. We have to get out of here."

"But-"

"No time!"

So Shauna continued on, half-dragging Angel across the dirty dust-ridden floor, past the horse stalls and towards the open door. They had nearly made it when they heard a soft groan from behind them.

Shauna's heart skipped a couple of beats as she looked back to see 'Dave's' arm reaching up to rub his forehead, and she tried to go faster. The sunshine hit their faces, just as they heard him shout.

"Oi! Fucking bitch! You're gonna re-regret that!" Shauna heard him crashing about as he tried to get back up.

"Come on," Shauna cried, and made her way to the red pick up, parked over to the right. They were surrounded completely by a forest; as out of the way of civilization as possible. She could see the trees rise into a tall hill not far off in the distance, the sunlight reflecting brightly off the rock outcroppings on the top.

They hadn't yet reached the truck when came the sound of one of the barn doors slamming into the outside wall, accompanied by the heaving bull-like breaths of 'Dave' as he stopped to search for them. Shauna chanced another glance back. He was weaving dangerously as he locked onto their position. She hadn't hit him as hard as she would have liked.

Angel pushed off from Shauna and fell to the ground. "Go! Run!"

Shauna didn't have time to argue with her with 'Dave' was bearing down on them. _I have to keep him away from Angel,_ she thought, and took off at a dead run, angling away from her partner. She looked back and, by some miracle, he was following her.

The adrenaline was surely the only thing keeping her moving, for she hadn't eaten in days, yet, 'Dave,' even with a knife wound in his chest, was having no problem keeping up. They ran through the trees, the fresh dead leaves that littered the ground making it impossible to be silent.

She glanced back again, and sure enough, 'Dave' was gaining on her. He looked angrier than she had ever seen anyone look, the kind of anger one could only have for the person that had just tried to kill them. He held Angel's knife in his hand, and it, as well as the far side of his chest, was covered in blood. It appeared she hadn't hit anything too vital, seeing as he was still breathing.

She tried not to imagine what it would feel like to have that knife cut through her flesh, it wouldn't do her any good. It was as she was about to put on another burst of speed, when she felt a hand grab the back of her shirt.

Her feet left the ground for an instant as she was pulled backward and thrown to the ground. 'Dave' was on top of her in an instant, sitting on her legs and pinning her arms to her sides.

They stayed still for a moment; the only sound from either one of them was in the form of heavy breathing, as they looked into each other's eyes. The feeling of betrayal came back to Shauna full force as she looked into the eyes of the man that had almost convinced her that he was something other than a cold, heartless killer. The face now was red from running and boiling with hatred, the pupils of his eyes dilated with fury, and barely even recognizable as human.

"What now?" Shauna asked, barely a whisper. She didn't struggle, there was no point. She knew she was about to die. She wasn't scared anymore.

"Oh, I expect you already know the answer to that," and he quickly raised his right arm and, before she could stop him, stabbed her in the side. She screamed as the white hot pain exploded and her vision went gray for a few seconds. Then he released the knife, leaving it sticking out of her, and placed his large hand around her throat, the other still holding down her other arm.

He was strong. She attempted to pull him off her throat with her free hand, the other digging in the dirt, but it was no use. It hurt so badly, the pressure crushing the life out of her and pushing the back of her head down into the soft earth. Her mouth gaped uselessly as her fingers started to lose feeling, losing grip and slipping off his hand.

The whole forest seemed to go silent in that moment. The birds that had made themselves heard that morning stopped chirping, the wind stopped blowing. Shauna's gaze moved away from 'Dave', into the trees over her head and she noticed the sun shining through the leaves. She could honestly say that it was the most beautiful color she had ever seen.

And in the silence, only one thing broke through. It was Angel; screaming her name.


	11. Fallen

Chapter Eleven: Fallen  
Fallen—30 Seconds to Mars

  
  


_Whenever I cried, he would always make me feel like he would change the world if he could so it couldn't hurt me anymore. But now I'm crying and he's not here._

  
  


  
  


**Angel**

The ground was rough. It tore at Angel's clothes and skin as she continued to drag herself along with both arms, but only one leg. The other one didn't move, just lugged along behind her, limp and full of pain.

She stopped long enough to glance back at the barn. She'd made it pretty far, but would it be enough to keep her hidden?

It was late afternoon and darkness would surely fall soon, but it couldn't fall soon enough. Then she wouldn't have to keep looking back.

The doors still hung wide open, the evening light glittering on the dust swirling out the doors.

  
  


" _Go! Run!" Angel shouted to her partner. 'Dave,' blood soaking his shirt from the knife wound in his_ _chest, was stumbling toward them._

_Shauna gave her one last look before sprinting away into the forest._

' _Dave' didn't spare Angel even a glance before going after Shauna. His eyes shone with fury as_ _adrenaline kicked in, giving him the strength to chase after her._

" _What—what are you doing? I'm right here!" she called after him, but it was useless. She looked around. What could she do? Even if she could find a weapon, she had no chance of getting to_ _them._

  
  


She turned forward again, face looking at the ground. She tried to bite back the tears as she continued to drag herself along.

She cried out as she ran across a stray twig with her bad leg. She slowly twisted around to look at the wound. While it had been at least reasonably clean in the barn, now it was covered in dirt and mixed with the oozing blood, forming a red, sticky mud. If she'd had anything in her stomach at the moment, it might have made her sick.

  
  


_Please let her get away, she prayed. But she knew it was hopeless. Shauna's scream pierced the air, and then everything became still._

" _No!" she yelled, her chest catching, knocking the feeble amount air from her lungs. "Shauna! Don't hurt her!" she rasped, trying not to cough._

_This can't be happening. This can't be happening. McGee, we need you now. "Please! Shauna!"_

_No other sound came. "Shauna!" The call reverberated through the forest, sounding hollow in the silence._

" _Shauna!"_

  
  


Angel kept going.

The sky had begun to darken above her, but she barely noticed. The only sounds among the trees were her feeble attempts to keep moving. She pulled herself over an exposed root into a small depression in the ground next to a tree trunk, just big enough for her to curl up in and get out of the chilly breeze.

She'd never felt so helpless; all she could do now was lay there and hope not to be found. Was she going to die as well? The odds were against her. Maybe 'Dave' came back for her and finished the job—hypothermia or dehydration were both better options at this point—or maybe she'd get blood poisoning from the infection in her leg.

  
  


_Not very long after they'd disappeared into the trees, 'Dave' came stumbling out, one hand wrapped around the ankle of a long leg. This can't be happening._

_Angel screamed. Profanities of all sorts flew out of her mouth as she stared at Shauna's lifeless body being drug along the ground._

' _Dave' came closer and deposited Shauna next to Angel like a rag doll. Angel tried to wrap her arms around Shauna's body, but 'Dave' kicked her hard in the side, leaving her gasping for air. She looked up at him as he reached into the back of his truck for a tarp, wrapping her hand around Shauna's wrist._ _There was no way she'd be able to fight him off._

" _Please," she wept, desperately trying to push away the tarp as he laid it over her. But he just kicked her again and finished wrapping Shauna up and put her in the back of the truck._

" _No!" she screamed, choking from the lump in her throat. "Please! Don't!" She reached up, ignoring the pain in her side._

_She continued to beg even as he drove away._

  
  


_**Matt** _

Matt sat silently in the driver's seat of the car, waiting for the light to turn green. His fingers clenched tightly to the steering wheel as he hit the accelerator.

Johnathan sat next to him, seemingly too afraid to move a muscle, lest Matt kill him with a flick of his wrist. Matt did nothing to alleviate the young agent's fears. He had more important things on his mind.

Shauna and Angel had already been missing for two days. Based on the evidence, all the other women had only made it three. Time was running out, and yet still they were no closer to finding them.

It wasn't until Matt almost crashed into a public transit bus, that Johnathan found the courage to ask, "Are you alright."

Matt took a second to glare at him, but then just turned his eyes back to the road and kept driving.

"Right, dumb question. Look, I'm sorry about all this—"

"Why are you sorry?"

"I should have been paying more attention. Shauna—her cam—"

"Did it seem out of the ordinary?"

"No. I didn't see it was him until it was too late. I was talking to Angel. I got distracted."

"You mean Angel distracted you?"

Johnathan sighed. "She'd fallen asleep. I—"

"So it's her fault?"

"What? No! She—"

"Was it Shauna's fault for not giving the signal?"

"No, it—"

"Or McGee's fault for leaving you to man the base on your own?"

"Of course not!"

"So it's your fault for trying to give Angel a hand?"

"No—it's…. I…"

"It's nobody's fault. No one's except Frankland's. He outsmarted us all."

The car went silent again for a few minutes; then, "This doesn't happen a lot does it?"

"What do you mean? Kidnappings?"

"Well, agents getting taken. Not knowing where they are. Not knowing if they're even alive?"

"Not all the time, but it does happen."

Johnathan gave an exasperated sigh. "It's just… I know I was trained for situations like this in FLETC, but it always just seemed so unlikely. And already in my first week—"

Matt's phone pierced the air.

'Ziva David', said the id. Matt answered it quickly. "Jericho."

 _"Matt,"_ Ziva said quietly, as if trying not to be heard. _"Metro found another body."_

Matt's heart suddenly stopped. No. No. Please no. "Who—" he quickly pulled the car over. "Do we know who it is?"

Ziva paused for a second. _"No. Metro just called to give us the heads up because we're the primary agency on the case. They did not know anything either."_ She gave him the location. Rock Creek Park again. _"McGee and I are on the way."_

"We'll be there." He hung up the phone and turned to Johnathan, who had a frightened look on his face. "There's another body."

Johnathan paled visibly and clenched his jaw. He nodded without saying anything and faced forward as Matt pulled back out onto the road.

  
  


**McGee**

Tim flashed his badge at the officer who immediately allowed them to drive through the cordoned off road.

Metro cars and crime scene vehicles lined both sides of the road. Tim pulled up near the crime scene tape and he and Ziva got out. A Metro detective he had worked with before came up to them just as they passed under the tape. "Mike," Tim said, "Who is it?"

Mike Conrad held up his hand to keep Tim from going forward. "I'm sorry. She's one of yours. I've never met her before but I looked her up. Shauna St. Clair."

Tim didn't move for a minute. He felt like he'd just been punched in the gut.

Why?

"I'm sorry, Tim." Mike put his hand down and stepped aside.

He walked the distance slowly, barely aware that Ziva was following him closely. There on the ground, facing away from him, was Shauna. It almost didn't seem real. He hoped it was just a nightmare. She was curled inwards, her dark hair laid out carefully behind her, her clothes stained and ripped.

Why?

He walked to the other side. Her face. Her eyes were closed, peacefully. But that didn't ignore the dark, hand-shaped bruises on her neck or the bluish tint to her lips. There was a small bloodstain near the bottom of her blue shirt. The signature.

Why?

A screech of tires sounded on the road, followed by two slamming doors.

"No!" Matt's voice.

Tim looked up and saw Matt start to run, only to be stopped by two uniformed officers. Matt struggled against them, eyes only for Shauna. Tim stepped forward, angry. "Let him go!"

The officers jumped at the command and released Matt, who, followed by an anxious-looking Johnathan, jogged up to the scene.

Ziva took Johnathan by the arm to keep him back as Matt made his way to Tim's side.

Tim watched him closely. Matt's fists clenched at his sides and his breathing came heavier, and Tim could see the fire begin to erupt in him as he looked at Shauna's lifeless body.

He lightly placed a hand on Matt's shoulder. "Not the time, Jericho." Matt nodded. He knew exactly what Tim meant. They still had to find Angel.

Matt took a heavy breath, his chest jerking as if he were crying, though nothing showed on his face. They were in uncharted waters here. He was so used to Matt bottling up his emotions; he very rarely showed even anger. Yet such a small show of emotion bewildered Tim.

So he did what came easy to him.

"Alright, Jericho, bag and tag and sketch the scene. Johnathan," Tim looked to Ziva, who nodded her consent, "I need you to canvas the surrounding area. Footprints, tire marks, I want it all. Ziva, if you don't mind, could you interview that woman who found Shauna? Please. I'll assist Jimmy when he gets here.

As soon as Tim finished doling out orders, Matt ran back to his vehicle to get the supplies. Ziva and Johnathan also disappeared for moment, leaving Tim alone. He took a deep breath and looked into Shauna's face, hoping against all hope that she would just open her eyes.

She couldn't be dead. He'd only known her for a few years, and yet, it was completely devastating to think that never again would he see her smile, or hear her berate Angel for being so insufferable, or tell Matt that it was okay to open up every once in a while. She'd never wait to leave the office at night after he did—but give up after ten o'clock—silently insisting that he needed to sleep just as much as everyone else.

And Angel. She was still out there. Trapped somewhere, now alone, and likely looking at the same fate. A cold chill made its way up his spine. He didn't know what to do.

She deserved better.

They both did.

  
  


Tim stood, quietly waiting in the doorway to Autopsy, as he watched Jimmy do a preliminary examination of Shauna's body. As usual, he kept up a running commentary of his findings meant for the digital recorder currently sitting on a tray next to him. He knew that Tim was there, but had been asked to act as normal.

He was very professional, but every once in a while, his voice would catch. Still, he kept going. Resilient. "Victim appears dehydrated, malnourished. Bruises, partially healed, mark the neck, the left side around the ninth and tenth ribs, as well as the back of the skull. There is a small contusion on the left side of the head, behind the temple, as well as in the back center skull, also partially healed. Perimortem injuries include what appears to be a fracture to the collar bone and severe trauma to the larynx. A large gash, likely a… a stab wound, is found just under the ninth rib. No signs of healing. There seems to be a mixture of dirt underneath the fingernails. Postmortem injury, two intersecting incisions directly below the navel, in the shape of a cross, made approximately one to two hours after death. Based on li-lividity, and the first signs of rigor, victim appears to have perished about seven hours ago. Roughly seven o'clock this morning."

Tim looked up from the floor when he realized Jimmy had gone quiet.

He was standing where he had been before, but now his hands rested on the edge of the autopsy table, and his head hung forward.

"Palmer?" Tim asked quietly.

Jimmy didn't move, but said. "Ducky was right, you know." Tim stepped away from the doors, finally allowing them to close. Jimmy looked up at the sound, a heartbroken look on his face. "It really doesn't get any easier. No matter how many times I have to perform autopsies on friends, it just keeps getting worse." A few tears began to fall from behind the thick glasses. "I mean, I thought Kate's was bad, but then Paula Cassidy, and Michelle, and Gibbs. If Ducky's had been anything other than natural causes, I don't think I…"

He looked back down at Shauna. "But her…" She was covered by nothing but a bleached white sheet, the grime on her face and body showing starkly in comparison. "She's only twenty-six. And Angel, if she—I don't—"

Tim placed a firm hand on Jimmy's shoulder and shook his head. “I'm getting her back. So don't even think about it.”

Jimmy nodded, looking more resolute. He looked at the body, and suddenly snapped his head back up to Tim. "The dirt under her nails!" he rushed to grab an evidence vial, and came back, working to remove some of the dirt.

"What do you…? Crap. You're right."

Jimmy nodded again. He spoke quickly and excitedly, "I can't believe I didn't think of it before. The previous victims' nails were always so pristine; Frankland cleaned them meticulously."

"So…what? He didn't have time?"

"Perhaps, but I did notice some extra bloodstains on Shauna's clothing that I don't think were hers."

"You think Frankland's been injured?"

Jimmy nodded. "Maybe. It would distract him from his usual methods."

"Do you think he's realized?" Tim asked, suddenly more worried.

"I don't know, but we shouldn't waste any time if he has." He handed Tim the evidence vial and Tim sprinted from the room. "Thanks, Jimmy!"

  
  


"Bobby, I—"

"I know; Palmer called." He took the vial from McGee's grasp and got to work.

McGee followed him to the table were the supplies for the procedure had been compiled in a hurry. Bobby opened the sample and began to work. McGee stood at his shoulder, trying to follow what was happening, but, like with Abby, Bobby was too quick for him.

McGee almost missed it when Bobby quickly swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. He sighed and put a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "That's good work, Bobby."

Bobby didn't say anything, but finished sucking up the top layer of silt from the liquid. He put it in a small test tube, and went to place it in the mass spectrometer.

The machine beeped and began to work. Bobby stepped back and looked to McGee. "Now we wait."

  
  


**Ziva**

The sun had gone down a long time ago, but still nobody had left. Ziva sat at her desk, quietly staring at her computer screen. It was the same, not-important e-mail she'd been reading an hour ago. Director Vance was requesting a meeting with all Special Agents in Charge next week.

Nothing that couldn't wait until _next week_.

Would Angel even be alive next week?

Ziva closed the window. Was she even alive now?

They were on their last hope. Tim had called almost two hours previously with the information of the soil under Shauna's fingernails. Perhaps they would finally be able to find her.

Her entire team sat at their respective desks as well, clicking mindlessly or, like Johnathan, playing with his phone. Matt sat in front of Johnathan's desk, taking apart and reassembling constantly his Sig Sauer. He was down to a seven second reassembly.

They all jumped when Ziva's cell broke the silence. McGee. She put the phone on speaker.

"Ziver, we've got the location. Get everyone to the garage, now!" And he hung up.

Everyone shot up - Matt reassembling in an amazing five seconds- and headed for the stairs. Ziva ran after them. She couldn't bear the thought that it might all be in vain and that Angel was already gone or dead. Tim would lose it completely, and she wasn't sure she would be able to put the pieces back together if that happened.

  
  



	12. Angels

Chapter 12: Angels

_Angels—Jake Coco_

  
  


_Don’t hide your eyes from mine_

_Angels do fall down sometimes_

_They do get blind_

_It happens all the time_

  
  


**Angel**

Angel woke in a haze of darkness and pain.

She gasped when the wound in her leg throbbed from the cold. She attempted to reach her hand down to touch it, but only succeeded in pulling on the fresh cuts on her stomach and arms that she had gotten from crawling along the ground. It hurt to breathe; every deep breath she tried to take resulted in a sharp pain on the right side.

She looked up at the trees in the near dawn light. She was propped up on an exposed root behind a large tree, without memory of having gotten there.

She lay there, trying to keep her mind away from the inevitable. Shauna. Dead. 'Dave' had probably already found a dump site, cut the cross into her stomach, and positioned her just how he liked his victims.

And then he would come back for her.

She should have just told Shauna to run on her own from the beginning, as soon as she'd knocked 'Dave' unconscious. Maybe then she would have made it? Not that Shauna would have listened; she never did. She would have carried her if she'd had to.

A pair of headlights suddenly flashed through the treetops. A bolt of fear struck through Angel's heart, and she took a breath, trying to hold back the tears.

She painfully pushed herself onto her side so that she could look around the tree she was up against, towards the barn. She appeared to have crawled about a hundred yards away from her former prison, and was hidden fairly well in the darkness. But how long would that last? 'Dave' would surely find her eventually.

The headlights continued to move silently closer from the other side of the barn as she watched. Maybe she could keep herself hidden long enough. Maybe McGee would finally find her.

Please let him find her.

The sky was getting lighter by the minute. She was running out of time. 'Dave' would find her in a heartbeat if he were to come out here now. The headlights were almost upon the barn, bringing her death with them.

But – No, wait! She could see it now. On the other side of the barn was a red tailgate, partially hidden from view. 'Dave' was already here.

McGee! He must have found her.

But...'Dave.' He was already here.

CRACK!

Dread flooded Angel's entire body as she slowly turned back over and saw him standing behind her.

He was white as a sheet and sweating profusely. He hadn't changed is clothes from before; the gray bloodstained shirt still clung to his skin, a shredded tear exposing the now infected knife wound. He looked desperate, ready to lash out at anything.

He'd never seemed more terrifying.

"Please," she tried to say, but her throat was so dry that nothing came out.

His expression did not change. He pulled her own knife from his pocket without breaking eye contact.

The car finally skidded to halt. Angel could hear four doors open and slam shut, followed by calls of "Angel!" and "Federal Agents!"

"I knew you were a cop," 'Dave' said, deathly quiet.

Angel dared not move, much less make a sound. If she kept him from strangling her for long enough, she might be found in time. She heard the barn's front door being pushed open. I'm out here! she wanted to scream.

"Lying bitch!" he said and kicked her in the injured leg. Pain exploded all the way up her body and she let out an pitiful scream.

Angel began to scramble, trying her best to get away. "Help! Help!" she shouted as 'Dave's' hand grabbed the back of her shirt. The front, already in tatters, tore away, but she continued trying to crawl away, her swollen right leg barely moving at all. "McGee!"

'Dave' picked her up by the middle and threw her onto her back in the dirt. He landed on top of her and placed his hands around her throat.

It hurt worse than the last time. She scratched at his hands and face with her nails, drawing blood. She wiggled and bucked in an attempt to throw him off, but nothing worked. She pulled on his hands, but he was too strong, no air could get through.

The look of rage on his face intensified as her vision grayed around the edges. At that moment, the sun broke through the horizon, lighting up the rapidly fading world around her.

Angel tried to keep fighting, but the lack of oxygen was making her head spin. Her body was beginning to weaken, when –

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Blood poured from the fresh bullet holes in 'Dave's' chest, and, gurgling, he fell on top of her.

Voices began shouting as Angel gasped for air, feeling finally finding it's way back into her body. Suddenly, Matt was there, pulling 'Dave' away. "Angel," he said, coming to kneel next to her, just as Ziva did the same thing on her other side.

Ziva held gently to her hand as she shouted for McGee.

"It's okay, Ange," Matt spoke softly, putting his hand gently to her cheek as she raggedly drew in air, his tears falling onto her face. "God, I never thought I'd see you again."

Ziva then stood up, letting McGee take her place. Angel grasped feebly at his shirt.

"Ambulance is on it's way, Angel," he said

"Bo-boss," Angel tried to say.

"No. Don't talk." McGee gripped her hand firmly, cradling it against his chest.

Her voice was raspy, but she manged, "Boss, I – I'm sorry." She took in another heaving breath. "Shau-auna...dead...my fault."

"No. Shh." McGee shook his head. "It's not your fault. Just...just rest, okay? You're safe now."

  
  


**McGee**

Angel closed her eyes, her whole frame continuing to shake. Tim raked his eyes down her body and was horrified at what he saw.

The front of her shirt was ripped open, hanging on only by the sleeves. Her forearms and stomach were covered in bloody scrapes, mingling with dirt, and discoloring the once white bra. Bruises covered her neck and body in an array of different colors, her hair was matted with dirt and twigs, and, worst of all, a large gash on her left thigh, caked with dirt and blood, forming a sickening mud-like substance.

"God," Matt whispered.

"Ziva, where in the hell is that ambulance?"

"They were not far behind us." Headlights glazed across her face and she looked up. "There!" Johnathan stood just behind her. "Go tell them where we are," she said to him, and he sprinted away without a word.

The EMTs came running, mobile stretcher in hand. Angel appeared to have fallen unconscious, he didn't blame her. They quickly picked her up with the stretcher and got her back to the ambulance.

"Go on, Tim," Ziva said, pushing him toward the back doors. "I will take care of the scene."

"I need your help," said the EMT after they had started off. He handed Tim a bottle of water and a rag. "You'll need to clean those wounds on her abdomen. I'll to what I can for her leg."

Hands trembling – Tim couldn't tell if it was from happiness at finding Angel, or grief from losing Shauna – he unscrewed the bottle and began to pour the water over Angel's stomach, letting it drip drop to the floor.

He was glad she was asleep, because he was at a lost for what to say. It was all because of Shauna that they'd found her at all. He couldn't do it on his own. He couldn't protect his own team.

What would Gibbs say? What would Tony say? Tim mentally shook himself. It didn't matter. He'd let his girls down. Shauna was gone, strangled to death by a psychopath, and Angel, left all alone in the woods, body broken and unable to defend herself.

But she as alive.

She was alive.

Angel gasped, hands shooting upwards and knocking the water to the floor. Tim quickly grabbed her hands and held them tight in his own. "Hey, calm down. I'm here."

"McGee?" Angel's eyes locked onto his and filled with tears. She croaked, "Did – did you –"

He put a hand on her cold forehead. "Did I what?"

"Did you find her?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah, we've got her. Palmer's got her."

"I – I'm sorry. I should've –" she hissed as if in pain. The paramedic was still working to clean the wound.

"Sorry, sir. I have to do it."

"It's alright, Angel," Tim said, placatingly. "Just relax. _None of this_ is your fault."

A small, pathetic sob escaped her dry throat, followed by a short coughing fit, and, finally, she seemed to relax.

"Go back to sleep," he said soothingly, brushing her dirty, tangled hair back with his fingers.

  
  


"Boss!"

Tim looked up and saw Matt walking hurriedly through the waiting room doors. "Boss, is she okay?" He stopped in front of Tim, towering over him and blocking out the ceiling lights.

"Sit down."

He sat, though he remained anxious. "How is she?"

"They just took her to get cleaned up. Said her leg isn't as bad as it looks, but they have to get the infection under control. The nurse said he'd tell me when we could see her. How'd you get here so fast?"

"I took our car as soon as Maxine and Sarah arrived. The techs are gonna be there all night. Plenty of murders to solve."

Tim nodded and sat back. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"I didn't want to shoot him," Matt said roughly.

Tim turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted to make him suffer. He killed Shauna." Matt rubbed his forehead as if he were fighting a headache. "He was going to kill Angel. He didn't deserved to be let off so easily."

Tim closed his eyes. It would be stupid of him to say that he hadn't expected this. ‟No, he didn't, Matt. But that isn't what we do and you know it. You – we all just have to get over it. The past isn't something that we can change.″

‟Get over it!″ Matt said loudly, standing back up and looking down at him with derision. ‟You want me to get over it? Just like that? Like that bastard didn't just change our lives completely?″

Tim looked patiently up at him. ‟Sit.″

Matt's jaw was clenched as he stared him down. Tim pointed a finger at the vacated chair. He sat.

‟You know that's not what I mean,″ he said. ‟But being angry isn't going to help anybody. Especially not Angel.″ He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. ‟She needs us to help keep her on the ground. There's no way she's gonna get through it without our help.″ God, he was talking crap, but the cost of being in charge was not letting emotions get the better of you. He only wished he could be as angry as Matt. It would be so much easier.

Matt studied him for a moment, not moving, but then he finally sat back against the chair, slouching down and covering his eyes.

Tim's phone broke the silence. He checked the id: DiNozzo? He stood up. ‟Get some rest, Jericho.″

He answered it as he passed through the waiting room door. ‟Tony?″

‟Hey, Tim. Long time, no see. Picked up on the third ring, as usual.″

‟What?... Why are you calling?″

Tony's voice left the jovial for the more somber. ‟Ziva called. Told us what happened. We're so sorry. Please tell me you've found Angie?″

‟Umm – yeah. Yeah, we did. She's – well, she's not okay, but she's alive. Ziva called?″

‟Yeah. A few hours ago. Probably early morning for you guys. She said that you were about to go try and find Angel. But look, we're coming up there.″

‟What? No! Tony, you and –‟

‟Nope. I'm having none of it, Tim. Besides, me and Abby have plenty of time to take off. And this is important. You need me. I know how tough it is trying to keep your team together after something like this.″

‟But what about Michah? She has school.″

‟It's already arranged, she's going to stay with our friend Carrol. Look, Tim, we're coming up there. She was our friend too. Besides, Abby's already packed and there's really no stopping her now. As a matter of fact, this isn't so much an informative call as it is a warning notice. Expect a lot of hugs in your near fu – ow! Abbs!″

Tim couldn't help but chuckle quietly. ‟Alright, whatever. But only because I know you don't have the sack to tell her no.″

‟That hurt the feels, Tim. We'll be there about three your time, okay? See you soon.″

Tim actually felt relief. Maybe the weight wouldn't be entirely on his shoulders. And Tony really did know what he was talking about. If it wasn't for him, the team – then, Tony, Tim, and Angel – wouldn't have survived Gibbs' and Ducky's deaths.

Tim had talked about needing to keep it together to Matt, but in actuality, he was struggling.

‟Uh, McGee?″

He twisted around, to find Bobby standing right behind him. ‟How's she doin', Boss?″

Bobby looked so worried that Tim almost wanted to hug him. Instead, he put a hand on the young man's shoulder. ‟She's alive. The doctor said it's not so bad″

He smiled, relieved, but still, the pain did not leave his eyes. Shauna meant a lot to him. She had loved being down in the lab; and no matter how Bobby complained about her being in the way, he loved having her down there. He had taken to calling her his 'little helper', and she always asked the most annoying, tedious questions, but he'd always admired her 'tenacity in the face of so much math.'

‟But she'll be okay, right?″

Tim nodded, and watched as Bobby moved past him to go to the waiting room. He stood still for another moment in the middle of the hallway, desperately trying to cling to his sanity, before silently following.


	13. I'm So Sick

**Chapter 13: I'm So Sick**

_I'm So Sick—Flyleaf_

  
  


_I feel your pain  
Because I am your pain  
That hurt you have  
I caused  
I broke the heart_

  
  


**Angel**

Angel had been awake for nearly an hour _,_ but still she refused to move. She'd heard someone – it sounded like McGee – pacing silently back and forth in the room, but she didn't open her eyes. The only person she wanted to see right now was gone.

He left after a while, only to be replaced by Bobby. He didn't say anything either; just held onto her hand and sniffed a lot, not actually crying, but still, Angel had trouble staying still. Eventually he left too.

Just when she thought she was finally alone, a voice broke the silence. ‟I know you're awake, Angel.″

Secret Agent Mattie. Sneaky as a fox and always exactly where you didn't want him to be. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Maybe he'd go away.

As if. ‟I can tell by the way you're breathing.″ Still, she didn't move. ‟Plus, your eyes would be moving if you were asleep.″

‟I'm on morphine.″ Her voice was still rough. She didn't open her eyes, but continued to talk.″They don't do that in a drugged sleep, do they?″

‟Yes.″

Damn.

Angel sighed and finally looked at him. He stood, back against the wall, hands stuck in the pockets of his hoodie. ‟You're good,″ she said flatly. ‟Do they really move?″

He shrugged. ‟Beats me.″

Angel rolled her eyes and looked him up and down. He didn't make a move, but continued to study her. She stared back silently. Worry was ever present, not in his face, but in the way his fists were balled inside his pockets and in how he leaned on he wall with both shoulders, instead of just one. It was subtle, but it was there.

She knew he was evaluating her in much the same way. In the six years they'd been partners, they'd gotten to know each others habits and tells. It was important to know who you worked with, but that didn't mean she enjoyed being evaluated.

‟Stop it," she said.

He raised his eyebrows in mock confusion. ‟Stop what?″

‟Stop trying to analyze me.″

After a moment, he lowered his eyes and took a seat in the chair next to her bed.

‟Where's McGee?″ she asked.

‟He went to pick Tony and Abby up from the airport.″

‟What? When did that happen?″

‟Ziva called them. Abby insisted on coming up.″

Angel sighed. ‟Well, I don't suppose it'll hurt anything now.″

After another moment, Matt asked, ‟How are you doing?″

She stayed resolutely silent.

‟I don't know what you want me to say, Ange. I'm sorry you had to go through that... And I know you blame yourself, but it's not your fault.″

‟How do you know it's not?″ she snapped. She knew it too, but she did not want to know it. She wanted it to be her fault. That would be easy.

‟Because I know that you did everything you could. That's just what you do.″

Angel knew that too. ‟″But it doesn't change anything.″ Water began to form in her eyes. ‟She's still... gone. I – I could have –‟

‟But you were hurt, Angel. What could you have done?″

‟Something!″ She didn't mean to shout, but after doing it once, she couldn't seem to stop. ‟Anything! I told her to run. I told her to leave me behind! That was the plan, but when she knocked him out, I thought we'd have time. And – and...″

Matt leaned forward and put a hand on her arm.

‟He didn't stay down for long. Shauna was helping me to his truck, but then he was behind us. I made her leave me, but he took off after her and... that was it. He carried her body back to the truck and... and he left.″

‟He left you there?″

‟Yeah.″

‟And you crawled into the woods?″ His voice was low, careful.

‟Yeah.″

He swallowed thickly. ‟She would have wanted you to live.″

Angel shook her head bitterly. ‟I doesn't matter what she wanted, though, does it? She's not here anymore.″

Matt didn't move for a minute. Neither looked at the other one, and the silence began to weigh heavily.

Unexpectedly, a jolt of pain shot up Angel's leg and she gasped.

Matt looked worried. ‟What? What's wrong?″

Angel rolled her eyes. ‟It's just a twinge, Mattie. Just push that morphine button a couple times and leave me alone. I wanna fly.″

Matt clenched his jaw like he wanted to say something else, but then he reached for the button.

The last thing Angel saw before falling into oblivion was him noiselessly shutting the door behind him.

  
  


**McGee**

‟Timmy!″ Abby came running up to him, having dropped her bag at Tony's feet at the crowded entrance to the airport. She jumped up into his arms, knocking him backward into the car door.

She kissed him on the cheek and stepped back. ‟I am so so so sorry, McGee. How's Angel doing?″

Tony finally stumbled over, dropping the luggage to the ground.

‟She's been asleep most of last night and today. I haven't talked to her other than in the ambulance. She was delirious.″

Abby hugged him again and picked up the bags, putting them in the car.

Tony stepped up and engulfed him in a hug. Tim silently hugged him back, taking a deep breath for the first time in days. ‟Are _you_ okay?″ Tony asked, his voice rumbling against Tim's chest.

He pulled back. ‟I will be when they are.″

Tony put a hand on his shoulder. ‟You got her back, Tim. That's still a win to me. We'll get through this. I promise.″

He nodded, not looking Tony in the eye, and went to get in the driver's seat.

  
  


Three days later, very little had changed. Angel had been allowed to go home – Abby had volunteered to stay with her – Matt was communicating less than usual (Angel was the only exception) and Tony never left Tim's side. The only thing left to work in the case was connecting all the evidence and making sure all the victim's families knew that their daughters' killer wouldn't be hurting anyone anymore.

Already, Tim had received eight letters from grieving parents and friends of long-dead victims. He couldn't read them, so Ziva did it for him.

The funeral was today.

Sweating in the back of a large white steepled church in Arizona, they listened to the pastor - who had apparently known Shauna all her life - tell them all about her life before she went away to follow her dreams. He couldn't keep the tears from his eyes as he spoke of God's grace and love, and how she was much happier now.

Tim sat between Ziva and Tony, head down, feeling about ten inches tall. He couldn't believe he was here again. It was almost like if he were to close his eyes, he'd be back in that old, crumbling church in Pennsylvania with his old team. It was the same seating arrangement. He looked up at the both of them. Ziva and Tony had the exact same stony stares and stiff backs as they did at Gibbs funeral. They'd both had a comfortingly warm hand on his leg, just like they did now.

And just like before, Tim had tears freely rolling down his cheeks.

They'd always been the strong ones.

If only it were as simple as it was back then. He didn't have to take care of anybody but himself. Tony took the brunt of it, keeping him and Angel focused, and always keeping track of what needed doing.

Tim didn't know how he did it. He'd never shown any signs of stress, he'd done nothing but take care of them – and now Tim wished he'd paid more attention. He didn't know what to do.

The church service went by excruciatingly slowly, but, finally, after the customary violin rendition of Amazing Grace, everyone stood. And now for the last thing he'd ever wanted to do. One by one, people began filing past the open casket. Shauna's family – her mother, her grandmother, and various aunts, uncles, and cousins, all with distraught faces – went past, stopping and touching and kissing.

Tim's heart sped up. He'd never been able to do this with Gibbs or Ducky. But, God. She was his. He couldn't let her down.

Ziva's warm hand slipped into his, sending an instant calming feeling through his chest. He looked at her and she smiled up at him. A little help never hurt.

And then it was their turn. Sarah, Johnathan, and Maxine went first, followed by Tony and Abby. Tim stepped into the isle, Ziva leading both him and Natanael forward. He glanced behind him, watching Matt help Angel to limp toward the front of the church. At the end, Bobby and Palmer followed, heads down.

Closer and closer he got, yet he felt further and further away from it all. They stopped in front of the casket. Ziva held fast to his hand, but stayed back to give him privacy.

Shauna's eyes were closed peacefully, and her lips were painted a bright pink color that she never would have worn in real life.

This would be the last time he ever saw her. He had to say something. But apologies weren't meant for the dead. Reaching into the casket, he grasped lightly a cold hand. Heart pounding in his ears, he leaned in and whispered, ‟Goodbye.″

  
  


**Tony**

Tony, driving Tim's new car back to the same old apartment he'd lived in for over a decade, was at a loss for what to do. He'd taken leave from work, left his daughter in Hawaii, and come back to D.C. thinking that he could help, yet all he'd done since he'd gotten here was give Tim and his team space.

When it came down to it, he was at a loss of how to help. Yes, he'd led the team – his team – through two deaths, but it was Tim's team now. It was completely different, even with the same people. Tim would need to fix them, but who would fix Tim.

He parked in the familiar place, and followed a quiet Tim up the familiar stairs into the same small apartment which held so many memories of breaking in and snooping around, eating the food and making fun of his nerd gear.

There was still a computer, but from the dust on the keyboard, it seemed ill-used as of late. Tony sat on the couch, waiting for Tim to do the same, but instead, he stayed standing near the table by the door staring at the floor near Tony's feet.

‟She had to stay here once, for a few days,″ he said, not looking up. ‟Her apartment was being fumigated, and Angel refused to let her stay with her. I think she was too scared to ask Matt, so I offered.″

Tony smiled. ‟That probably scared her even more.″

He gave a small smirk. ‟I offered her the couch, but she always wound up on the floor. I finally told her just to start out there so she wouldn't have to deal with the bruises.″ He made his way to a chair, still staring at the floor. ‟She barely even spoke to me then. Angel did say I was too intimidating. Not her words. I think she said that I had crazy eyes.″

‟You mean like how you blink really fast when you get upset?″

‟I assume so.″

‟Yeah, that is pretty scary. A little bit psycho.″

Tim rolled his eyes. ‟Thanks.″

Tony winked, showing teeth, but it faded quickly.

Tim was shaking his head, and finally dropped it into his hands. ‟I'm not good at this, Tony. I'm not a good leader. Not like you.″ He looked up at Tony. ‟I let them get taken.″

Tony narrowed his eyes. ‟You didn't let _anything_ happen.″ Tim didn't respond. ‟Look. I know you don't want to hear this right now, but you're going to. Look at me.″ He waited until Tim met his eyes. ‟It's not your fault.″

Tim shook his head slowly. ‟I should have done something more. They're my team. I should have kept them safe.″

‟Tim, you _know_ it goes with the job. They both knew what they were getting into.″

He scoffed. ‟What, is that supposed to make me feel better, or something?″

Tony sighed, closing his eyes. ‟No.″

Tim continued to stare blankly at the wall. ‟It's not fair. I should have been better. I should've known better. She – she was so young.″

‟I know. They always are.″

Tim shook his head again, blinking. Tony knew how he felt. Tim knew it wasn't his fault, and the guy who was to blame was long past punishment. He felt helpless and cold.

They sat for a while. Tim just leaned back in the chair and started blankly at the ceiling, completely still.

‟Are you happy, Tim?″

Tim flinched and looked around at him, confused. ‟What?″

‟Are you happy?″ Tim still looked bewildered at the question. ‟You just seem so sad. And I don't mean just lately. Every time I see you or when I talk to you.″ Tony sat forward. ‟I mean, have you seen your place recently? No food. Half of your clothes are in your car. The only thing with any meaning in your life is work.″

Still, he didn't say anything.

‟You're starting to remind me of Gibbs. And Gibbs acted like Gibbs because of what happened to his family. What happened to make _you_ like this? You're practically building a boat in your basement.″ Tony could see anger beginning to bubble, but he continued anyway. ‟It's not who you are. You've always been better than Gibbs. Than all of us.″

‟I tried, Tony! I tried not to be that way. I almost got married! But, like everything else, I screwed it up.″

‟Yes, I know, and that sucks. But you to move on. You start over, you don't let it control your life.″

‟Yeah?″ Tim stood, stomped toward the kitchen. Tony followed with his eyes. ‟Well, it's so easy for you to say. As long as I've known you, you've had it easy. Easy with women, easy with work, with life. You married Abby, adopted Michah.″

Tony didn't rise to the bait. ‟This isn't about me, Tim.″ He stood as well, but stayed where he was. ‟It's _your_ life. _You_ need to take it back.″

‟How?!″

‟What about Ziva?″

‟What _about_ Ziva?″

‟Oh, don't try to hide it from _me,_ Probie. It's obvious how you feel about each other.″ Tony could have sworn he saw the beginnings of a blush. ‟And she already has that life. The one you've always wanted. She has a family, and they love you.″ Tim's eyes were wide, the previous argument forgotten.

Tony shook his head, a small smirk finally breaking free. ‟Don't just let that all pass you by just because you're too afraid to do something about what's right in front of you.″

Tim didn't speak to him for the rest of the night.

  
  



	14. The River

Chapter Fourteen: The River _  
The River—Jo Bonamassa_

_We find by losing. We hold fast by letting  
go. We become something new by  
ceasing to be something old. This seems  
to be close to the heart of that mystery.  
I know no more now than I ever did  
about the far side of death as the last  
letting-go of all, but now I know that  
I do not need to know, and that I do  
not need to be afraid of not knowing.  
  
—Frederick Buechner _

  
  


  
  


  
  


**McGee**

‟Jericho, take the back,″ Tim said.

Matt nodded and ran around the house.

Tim unholstered his sig and held it down at his side. With his right hand, he banged his fist against the door. ‟Federal Agents! Open up, we have a warrant for your arrest″

Three seconds should be enough. He stepped back and put his foot to the door. He moved inside as it flew open and heard Matt doing the same thing from the other end.

He moved through the house, his weapon leading the way. He checked the dining room on the left, but as he went to enter the kitchen, the shaft of a wooden broom came around the corner, hitting him square in the jaw.

His vision went fuzzy, and he fell back against the wall. The suspect pushed him to the floor and rushed past, escaping through the front door.

‟Matt,″ Tim called, holding his face and struggling to stand. He stumbled towards the door just as he saw Matt sprinting through it. There was a shout of ‟stop″ and then a squeal of pain. By the time Tim got his bearings and made it outside, the suspect was rolling around on the sidewalk, and clutching his bleeding nose.

Tim's eyes widened in shock. ‟What did you do?″ he asked Matt, who was towering menacingly over the suspect.

He looked up. ‟I tackled him and he failed to protect his face.

He looked to the sidewalk where the suspect was. A small bloodstain marked the ground, seemingly backing up the story. Tim breathed a sigh of relief.

‟You sonofabitch!″ the suspect yelled from the ground. It came out sounding muffled, with his bloodied hands still covering his mouth.

He'd hate to have to explain that one to the director.

‟You're bleeding too,″ Matt said, pointing at Tim's face.

Tim placed the palm of his hand to his jawline and examined the result. He took a deep breath, willing himself not to kick the suspect in the stomach.

‟Clean him up and get him in the car.″

Back at the office, Tim exited the stairwell and headed straight for his desk, but was stopped suddenly when Ziva stepped out in front of him.

‟Hey, Tim,″ she began, ″I – Oh my god! What happened?″ she gently graced her fingers across his jaw.

‟Broomstick,″ he said, brushing her hand away. ‟I'm fine. Matt broke the guy's nose.″

Her eyes went wide. ‟What?″

‟On accident. Don't worry about it. Did you need something?″

‟Angel is here.″

‟What? Where?″

‟In Director Vance's office.″

‟She's not meant to come back for two more weeks. I have to talk to her.″

He made to leave, but Ziva placed a firm hand no his chest. ‟I wouldn't if I were you.″

‟Why not?″

‟Because it has been a month since she was rescued. And you have been lucky to have never been through anything quite like this. If she wants to come back to work, then it's probably the best thing for her.″ He must have looked uncertain, because she continued. ‟It is the isolation that gets you. The absolute worst thing you could do is let it boil.″

‟You mean, 'let it stew?'″

‟Whatever.″

Tim sighed. Ziva knew what she was talking about. ‟Alright. I guess she can just stay on desk duty.″

Ziva nodded, dropping her hand. ‟I am sure the director would agree.″ She started for the elevator, but stopped suddenly and turned back. ‟By the way, you left your boots under my bed the other day.″

Tim looked at her in confusion for a second, but was snapped out of it when a small crash sounded from the general direction of Ziva's team's workspace. Sarah, Maxine, and Johnathan were all sitting cross-legged next to Sarah's desk. They were whispering fervently trying not to look in Tim and Ziva's direction, and attempting to hide what looked like a sound enhancer.

Ziva made the 'I'm watching you' gesture with her fingers before continuing towards the elevator.

Tim rolled his eyes and went to sit at his desk.

Maxine and Sarah had taken to Johnathan very well; the team cohesion was remarkable. He was just as impressed with them as he ever had been with his own team.

  
  


‟ _But, Boss,″ Angel whispered, watching Shauna sitting on the floor in the bullpen, playing with a little girl, about a year old, with high black pigtails. (Tim couldn't help but smile at the resemblance to a certain forensic genius he knew.) ‟What are we supposed to do with her?″_

_Tim just shrugged. ‟Her aunt will be here to get her in a few hours. Just keep her occupied.″_

‟ _But...″ she looked around desperately, ‟can't Bobby or – or Palmer – he has kids –‟_

_He shook his head. ‟They're busy with her mom.″_

_Angel's face scrunched up, as if in pain. ‟Yeah... yeah, alright fine. We'll watch –‟_

_She was interrupted by a loud, wailing cry. They both looked down to see Shauna, wide-eyed, pick up the little girl and try to calm her down, but to no avail._

_She looked up at them. ‟What do I do?″_

_Tim had to fight no to laugh as Angel jumped on the baby bag and dumped it out onto the floor. ‟Okay... do you think she's hungry?″_

‟ _How should I know?″_

‟ _Well! What do you expect of me? I've never had to do this before!″_

_Chuckling, Tim left the bullpen, intent on heading to the lab._

_When he got back, however, the situation had not improved._

‟ _No, Angel, you're doing it wrong. You're putting it on backwards.″ The baby was still crying as Tim saw what they were doing. The little shirt Angel was trying pull the girl's arms through was indeed backwards, and, if possible, Angel's face was even redder than the baby's._

_He looked at all the other personnel in the general vicinity. Some (including Ziva and Sarah) looked very annoyed and either had earphones or earplugs in, trying to block out the sound. Others were openly staring, with smirks on their faces, but were unwilling to intervene._

_Angel fixed the shirt and started picking up the random objects that littered the floor. Toys, pencils, staplers, and pretty much anything that could interest a baby, were offered, but the little girl, currently sitting in Shauna's lap, just pushed everything away, saying what was unmistakably the word ‟No.″_

_The elevator dinged, but Angel and Shauna were too busy to notice. Tim turned to see Matt step out, bags of the team's lunch in his hands. He stopped next to Tim. ‟What happened here?″ he asked_

_Tim, smiling, said, ‟Well, apparently when they said they could 'handle it,' that's not what they meant.″_

_Matt shook his head and walked over to where they were sitting. He put the food on his desk, stepped up, nudged Angel out of the way with his foot, and reached down to take the baby out of Shauna's clutches. He held her to his chest, and immediately, the baby calmed, hiccuping as she tried to stop crying. He then took the stuffed dog toy from Angel's hand and gave it to the baby, who grabbed it with a squeal and stuffed it in her mouth._

_The whole room stilled as everyone in it stopped and stared, slack-jawed at the scene._

_Angel was furious. ‟What in the hell was that? Did they teach you that in the CIA or something?″_

‟ _What?″ Matt was actually smiling, looking at the little girl. ‟Babies love me.″_

_The room, as one, seemed to snicker and then went back to work._

_Angel and Shauna stood, Shauna gazing in wonder. ‟Yeah. Because they can't communicate verbally either.″_

  
  


‟McGee?″ Angel's voice snapped him back to reality. Tim's eyes dropped for a second to the floor (he could almost see Shauna sitting there, covered in powdered baby formula, a scared look on her face), before he looked back at Angel, standing at the entrance to their space.

Her hair and make-up were done immaculately, and her clothing was pressed and wrinkle-free even through they seemed to fit her a little loosely. He knew that her leg had healed – she held herself perfectly steady. She was clearly attempting to give the impression that she was back to normal, but the uncertain look on her face gave her away.

‟Angel,″ he responded.

‟What happened to your face?″

‟Broomstick.″

She raised her eyebrows in amusement, but then she cleared her throat. ‟I've, umm... I've talked to the director.... I – I just need my psych evaluation and he says I can come back for desk duty.″

Tim nodded. ‟When?″

‟Oh, umm...″ she didn't seem to have expected him to agree so easily. No wonder she hadn't tried to talk to him first. ‟Tomorrow. If all goes well.″

He nodded again. ‟Good. Eight o'clock sharp.″

‟Umm...alright. See you then,″ she said and walked off.

He watched her get in the elevator to go up. He sure hoped Ziva was right.

  
  


**Angel**

‟And how does that make you feel?″

‟Super awesome.″

‟Sarcasm won't help your situation, Miss de Luca.″

‟Well, _Miss Doctor Lady_ , perhaps asking something other than 'and how does that make you feel?' might make me want to give you a serious answer.″

‟Look – may I call you Angel?″

‟No.″

The psychiatrist sighed. ‟I know it hurts.″

‟Do you? Really?″

‟You lost your partner while you were incapacitated. You're blaming yourself.″

‟No, I'm really not.″

‟Well, then who _are_ you blaming? Your captor?″

‟Mostly.″

‟What does that mean?″

‟I don't – I don't know. Isn't that your job?″

‟Your boss?″

After a second's pause, Angel shook her head. ‟No. It's not his fault. Too many shit circumstances just happened to fall into place.″

‟Such as?″

‟Well. What if we'd all been paying more attention that night? What if we hadn't found another body? Or what if _Frankland_ wasn't a crazy person. Maybe if Shauna hadn't been stupid enough to fall for a mark.″

‟Maybe if you all hadn't been working late every night that past week?″

‟I see you've done your research.″

‟I always do.″ She flipped a page in the case file sitting in her lap. ‟So everyone played a played a part?″

‟No. I didn't say that. No one played a part but Frankland. No one is at fault but him.″ The doctor raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‟Not what you expected to hear, I guess.″

‟Why do I feel like I'm being interrogated?″

‟That's rich, coming from you. It's what you get for working with cops.″

She smiled. ‟I suppose so. But I'm assuming that this line of questioning is uncomfortable, so I'll move on. How have the past few weeks been?″

‟Boring.″ The psychologist scratched her nose with the end of her pen, listening closely. ‟A little lonely.″

‟Have you been eating well?″

‟I'm not depressed, if that's what you're asking.″

‟I wasn't.″

Angel sighed. ‟I've been a little sick from all those meds. But I'm okay now. Probably eating better than I used to.″

‟Sleeping?″

‟More than what I'm used to. Not like I have anything else to do.″

She made a few notes. ‟What do you think it'll be like working without your partner?″

‟I see what you did there. You asked me some easy questions to get me talking, then you hit me with a big one. Who's interrogating who?″

The doctor rolled her eyes. Angel bit back a smile. Then she shrugged. ‟I assume it would be like it was before she was my partner. With a few extra sad feelings mixed in.″

‟Can you work with that?″

‟Well it's not exactly preferred, but life does indeed move on.″

‟Indeed.″ She flipped another page. ‟So.″ She looked steadily at Angel. ‟About what happened at that barn.″ _Here we go._ ‟I'm told it was three days that you were there?″

‟Yes.″

‟And you were fairly bad off for most of it?″

‟Yes.″

‟I assume the dynamic between you and your partner changed. She became the protector?″

‟Yeah, sure.″

‟Whereas you are usually the one showing her the ropes and keeping her safe.″

‟Yes.″

‟Do you think that changed the end result?″

‟You mean that she died and I didn't? Possibly. Probably. But when it came down to it, she ran. She left me lying on the ground. I know she wanted him to follow. I think. Stupid thing to want really...″ Angel said, chewing on a nail, no longer looking at the psychologist. ‟She actually had a chance.″

‟And she gave that chance to you?″

She looked back up. ‟That's kind of a dumb question, don't you think, Doc? She knew he would go for her, she was the one that stabbed him in the chest. But she didn't know that he wouldn't just kill me when he was done with her. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't.″

‟Surprised?″

‟Well, it does seem like something a crazy person like him would do. I'm glad he didn't, of course.″ She swallowed. ‟Now, if he would've killed me _instead_.″

‟But he didn't.″

‟No. He didn't.″

The doctor made another note.

‟I am _glad_ he didn't. But if it meant that she'd lived...I would've done anything.″

‟Perfectly understandable.″

‟Really? So you don't think that I'm depressed, or suicidal, or... a danger to myself or others.″

‟Should I be?″

‟What is it with you doctors? Always seeing the worst case scenario. That, and answering question with a question. Is that in a handbook somewhere?″

‟Actually, yes.″

‟Oh...huh...″

‟Angel,″ the doctor said, sitting up straight, ‟you seem fine. Almost a little too fine, but even if I am being played, at least you're in the presence of mind to try and play me. Believe it or not, it is completely normal to be upset after an ordeal like that.″ She marked some notes on the last page, and handed it to Angel. ‟Fit for duty. But I'd still like for you to come and see me for a while.″

‟Is it mandatory?″

‟Well, no.″

‟Well, then this appears to be goodbye, Doc.″ They stood and shook hands.

‟See you next week.″

  
  


**McGee**

‟Agent McGee,″ Director Vance called, exiting MTAC as Tim passed.

He slowed his pace, but kept walking. ‟Can't it wait, Director? I've got to see Bobby.″

‟I just want to talk. Won't take a minute.″

Tim sighed and stopped, leaning up against the railway. ‟About?″

‟How's Angel doing?″

Tim looked down into the bullpen. Angel was sitting at her desk, chin in one hand clicking pointlessly on her mouse with the other. ‟Bored, I assume. The first couple of days were a little awkward, but the team's doing better with her back. She's already threatening to quit on me every five minutes if I don't let her back into the field soon.″

‟What's stopping you?″

‟I told her two weeks when she came back.″

‟Her therapist thinks she's ready.″

‟I don't think another week could hurt.″

‟And Agent Jericho?″

Tim's eyes moved to Matt. He was staring blandly in front of him, arms and legs crossed, still as a stone. ‟Mostly normal. He won't talk to anyone, much less me. It's not affecting his work, but he's still pretty upset.″

‟What about your suspect last week?″

‟That was an accident.″

‟You're sure? The suspect didn't seem to think so.″

‟Matt wouldn't do anything like that.″

The Director studied him for a moment. ‟Okay.″

‟Anything else?″

‟What about you?″

Tim swallowed and scratched his forehead to give himself a moment. ‟Fine. It's just a lot quieter down there without Shauna. I'll be... we'll be fine.″

The Director, uncharacteristically, placed a comforting hand on Tim's shoulder. ‟I know.″

Tim nodded. ‟Thanks, Leon.″ He went to leave, but the Director held him back.

‟Wait a moment, Tim.″

‟Yeah?″

He presented Tim a with a file he hadn't noticed before. ‟I hate spring this on you all of a sudden, but there really is no easy way to do it.″

‟What do you mean?″

He nodded at the file. ‟Meet your new agent.″

  
  


  
  



	15. Wolves and Werewolves

Chapter 15: Wolves and Werewolves

 _Wolves and Werewolves –_ the pack a.d.

  
  


_Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  
\- Albert Einstein_

  
  


**McGee**

‟Meet your new agent.″

‟New.... Don't you think it's a bit soon, Leon?″

‟I'm sorry McGee, but I think we've waited as long as possible. It's just been you and Jericho for a month, and Angel will still be on desk duty for a while. Agent David can't keep lending you her agents forever. And yes, I absolutely knew about that.″

Purposefully avoiding his gaze, Tim opened the file, the Director giving commentary as he read. ‟Her name is Amy Travis. Well qualified. Second in her training class, and previous experience in local law enforcement.″ She looked very professional in her photograph, straight, red hair tied back neatly, a calm, determined look on her face. ‟Could have qualified for detective if it weren't for her age. She's twenty-three now. High marks in weapons proficiency. I assure you, she comes very highly recommended.″

‟I'm sure she does,″ he said.

‟It's just a trial run for now. She'll be here tomorrow, so I suggest you go ahead and discuss it with your team.″ He turned to leave. ‟I'll expect all of you in my office at nine sharp."

Tim stared after him for a moment, still holding the open folder loosely in his hands. This was insane. If the Director thought for one moment that this was the right time to start over, then he clearly couldn't see how the team was actually faring. Trying to get them to accept a new agent this soon, and another young, innocent-looking woman at that, was probably the worst thing the Director could put on them.

He looked back down at his workspace; Angel was throwing little paper balls in Matt's direction, and he was ignoring her completely, still staring off into space. They were slowly getting back to normal, but he didn't know what this might do to them.

The Director was right of course, he was a little low on manpower. And it had to happen eventually, that empty desk couldn't stay empty for long. As usual, they started over, did all the same things all over again and again, and moved on.

Angel, however, didn't take the news so lightly.

‟What? Another one, just like that?″ Angel snapped her fingers to go with the statement. ‟Let me see that picture again.″

Matt handed over the file without a word.

‟Pretty, young, female. Exactly what this team will be missing now. 'Hey, let's just toss another one at them and hope she sticks.'″

‟Angel,″ Tim chastised. He looked around the break room. A few agents loitered around the vending machines, but they weren't paying any attention to the conversation at hand.

‟Oh, was that rude? Sorry, I must be a little off my game.″

‟Can we please just give her a chance?″

‟Chance? Sure! Why not? I suppose she deserves at least that much.″

‟Well, the Director wants us to meet her tomorrow.″

‟Are you freaking kidding me?″ she snapped the folder shut and threw it back into Matt's hands. He caught it without hesitation and opened it again. ‟He gives us a day's notice and expects us to just take her, no questions asked.″

‟What happened to giving her a chance?″

‟He couldn't give us an extra month? We haven't even completely cleaned out Shauna's desk.″

‟Angel, it's happening. There's no point in arguing.″

‟What? There is always a point in arguing!″

‟Angel, please,″ he begged. She was angry, he could tell. No matter what it had seemed, Angel had always been the closest to Shauna.

She huffed, and turned to Matt. ‟What do you think?″

‟Its not so bad,″ he replied quietly.

‟Oh sure! He's on board.″

‟He's right, Angel. She's just another agent. She's not trying to replace anybody. She didn't even know Shauna,″ Tim said.

‟But...″ she looked at Tim and saw the pleading look on his face. ‟Fine. I suppose I don't have a choice.″

And so, the next morning, they made their way to the Director's office. Angel was still a bit angry about the short notice, but she had given up the fight. The secretary buzzed them in, and Tim led the way.

‟Ah, there you are,″ said Vance, standing up from the conference table. ‟I was just telling Special Agent Travis about the job.″

Amy Travis stood as well, coming around the table. ‟Nice to meet you all,″ she said, holding out her hand. ‟You must be Special Agent McGee?″ She shook his hand. ‟And Matt Jericho. And Angela de Luca.″ She shook their hands in turn.

Angel had reluctantly promised to play nice, so she smiled politely and said, ‟Hello.″

Amy nodded in response. She looked so young. If Tim didn't know for a fact that she was twenty-three, he would have thought she was still in high school. Her red hair was tied neatly at the base of her neck with a thin black ribbon, and she wore a blue button up shirt with a neatly pressed vest, a pair of slacks, and what were unmistakably solid black converse tennis shoes. She smiled easily as he looked at her, clearly something that she did a lot, going by the laugh lines around her mouth.

Director Vance touched Amy on the elbow and said, ‟Why don't we all take a seat.″

They all took a place around the table, the team on one side, the Director and Amy on the other. ‟As you know, Miss Travis here is very much qualified to work with your team. However, I understand that it might be a difficult transition coming from the recent tragedy. I am hoping that you can all get past all that and work together seamlessly.″

Amy frowned in sympathy. ‟I am so sorry to hear about what happened,″ she said. ‟When I heard I almost didn't want to come, but the Director insisted.″

‟Yes,″ he said. ‟I need my people at peak performance, and I'm certain that it will all work out. Now, as for the particulars, Amy here has some previous experience as a patrol officer, but none yet with NCIS, so she will be in the position of Probationary Agent for now.″ He looked at Amy. ‟That means that you will be on probation for a year. Monthly evaluations, extra training, and at any point, you may be placed on a new team or in a different type of duty post.″

She nodded. ‟Understood.″

‟Miss de Luca here will be on desk duty for another week, so I would expect you'd have to jump right into some field duties.″

Tim spoke up. ‟Is that all, Director?″

He looked to Tim's and his team with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. ‟Is there anything you would like to say to say, Special Agent McGee?″

Tim opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off the his phone ringing. Dispatch. ‟Sorry, Director, but we have to go.″ The team stood.

The dispatch operator gave him the information, and he hung up, looking at Amy. ‟You all set to go? We've got a case.″

Her eyes widened in excitement and she jumped up out her seat. ‟Of course. The paperwork's taken care of. I'm all yours.″

‟Good luck,″ the Director called as the door shut behind them.

Tim pointed towards the bullpen as they passed. ‟Desk, Angel.″

He heard her curse as he continued on.

  
  


‟So, where are we going?″ Amy asked as they got in the car.

‟An AWOL Naval petty officer has been found. Alive.″ He started the engine and immediately took off. ‟She says she's been kidnapped.″

‟Did she say by who?″

‟Don't know yet, Travis. We're going to see her at the hospital.″

She sat forward from the back seat. ‟So what do you want me to do when we get there?″

Tim saw Matt roll his eyes. She talked more than Shauna, that was for sure. And she didn't appear to be afraid of him. ‟Just watch for now.″

‟Got it, Special Agent McGee.″

‟Just call me McGee.″

‟Oh, thanks.″ She sat back. Then forward again. ‟Hey, McGee, is – ″

‟Travis,″ he said, cutting her off.

‟What?″

‟Just save it.″

‟Oh,″ she sat back. ‟Okay.″

They made it the rest of the ride in peace. When they arrived at the hospital, they were shown into a small room with the blinds on the windows shut tight. A young woman sat alone on the bed, wrapped in a blanket and wearing a set of scrubs. There was a distinct scent of seawater in the air, and her hair looked as if it had been wet rather recently.

‟Special Agent McGee, NCIS, ma'am.″ He took a seat right in front of her. The other two remained standing. ‟This is Agent Jericho and Agent Travis. What's your name?″

‟Petty Officer Charlotte Riggs, sir.″

‟What can you tell me about what happened, Petty Officer? You said you were kidnapped?″

She nodded.

‟Do you know who kidnapped you?″

‟No, sir″ she said in a small voice. ‟I don't know his name.″

‟Is there anything you can tell me that would help to identify him?″

‟I, uh... I don't know.″

‟What did he look like?″

‟Um... white. Brown hair. A – uh, tattoo on his left bicep. A snake.″ Tim could hear Amy scratching away in a notebook behind him. He knew it was Amy, because Matt had a particularly keen memory. He could just hear something, and then go back to the office and write it all down practically word for word.

Petty Officer Riggs looked at Amy dazedly for second and then turned her attention back to Tim. ‟I – I don't really remember.″

Tim smiled at her. ‟That's alright. So, what happened?″

Her voice was shaking slightly. ‟Umm... I, uh, I was at a bar.″

‟By yourself,″ Amy interjected. Tim didn't remind her that she was just an observer. It would only endeavor to stress out Charlotte even more.

‟Oh, um. Yes, ma'am.″ More writing. ‟I sometimes go there to relax on my days off. I know the bartender there. But she wasn't working last night. My CO probably thought I ran off, huh?″ She laughed halfheartedly, looking back at Tim.

‟You were reported AWOL. Some M.P.s were out looking for you; they'll probably be here soon.″

‟Oh... really?″

‟Please continue.″

‟Um, anyway, I was getting ready to leave, when this really cute guy came up and started hitting on me. We were – um. He invited me back to his place, and I, uh – ‟

‟It's alright. Was this the guy that took you?″

She nodded. ‟He said he lived down by the docks.″ The shaking was back. ‟So, we were driving, and I kept asking him where, and he just kept saying 'you'll see', or 'almost there.'″

Tim nodded patiently. ‟It's okay. What happened next?″

Charlotte cleared her throat. ‟Well, we got on his boat, and we took off. He didn't tell me that there would be another guy there, but I was into it. We started kissing, but he was a little pushy, so I told him to stop. I tried to fight him off, but the second guy came in and...″

‟He raped you?″

Taking a shuttering breath, Charlotte nodded her head yes. She looked down, avoiding eye contact with all of them. Tim could hear Matt breathing less than-steadily behind him.

‟What happened ne - ‟

Amy stepped forward. ‟Could you describe the boat?″

Tim looked at Amy, to tell her not to interrupt, but then Charlotte chuckled.

‟I'm a sailor, ma'am. I think I could describe a little boat.″

Tim stood, motioning for Matt to follow him outside while Amy got the details.

They stopped just on the other side of the door. ‟We going to find the boat?″ Matt said.

Tim shook his head, eyes on Amy. She was listening intently, writing down everything that Charlotte was saying. ‟I need you to call her CO at the Navy Yard and tell him to call off his goons. We'll be taking her to NCIS to get a formal statement as soon as she's out of the hospital. ″

Matt nodded, and pulled out his phone, stepping away to somewhere quiet.

Tim went back to the hospital room. ‟How did you escape?″ Amy was asking.

Charlotte shrugged with a little smirk. ‟I swam. I jumped off the boat when they let me go to the bathroom. Must have about a mile – I went way farther than that in boot camp. And thank God it wasn't too cold this time of year. Anyway, I swam to shore and asked someone to call you guys.″ She spoke a lot steadier now. ‟Those men, they probably thought that I'd drowned. I didn't tell the guy I was Navy. But if they think that I'm lost at sea, they'll probably go back to the same dock. You can catch them. I can show you.″

Tim spoke, causing both women to look up. ‟You can _tell_ us. You'll be alright here, we're calling your CO to let him know you're alright."

When they arrived back, Matt took Amy to legal to get a warrant for the boat. Tim found Angel in the bullpen sitting behind Shauna's desk, arm pushed all the way into the back of one of the drawers. ‟One hell of a mess,″ she said without looking up. She drew her hand back out clutching an old candy wrapper. ‟Trash all over this thing.″

He stopped in front of her. ‟It's still cleaner than yours.″

‟So, how'd she do?″ Angel asked, checking another drawer.

‟Well enough. Didn't exactly observe from the shadows, but she put the victim at ease.″

Angel nodded, still looking inside the desk. ‟It'll be weird, though, right? Some stranger in Shauna's seat? Using her computer. You've dealt with this before. Kate Todd? Someone new just taking their place.″

‟Yeah.″ He thought of the first time Ziva tried to sit in Kate's desk. It had felt so wrong then. ‟It's weird at first. But – well, things change.″ He looked to Ziva's current desk. He wondered where she was.

‟She's on a call-out. Dead Marine in a lake, or something.″ She got down on her knees and reached under the desk, coming up with a crumpled old post-it. She looked up at Tim with an arched eyebrow. ‟You asked Ziva on an actual date yet?″ she asked, face completely serious.

‟What? What are you talking about?″

‟What am I talking about?″ she asked dubiously. ‟I see the googly eyes you two make at each other all the time. I swear, you're like a couple of love-struck teenagers. You can't fool me,″ she pointed at herself, a smug look on her face. ‟Angel sees all.″

Tim sighed in vexation. ‟Just mind you own business, Ange.″

‟Business? I have no business. I've just been sitting at home for the past month, nobody to talk to. I was so bored, I actually considered joining a religion. The least you can do for me is let me in on some prime romantic entanglements. I haven't had sex in so long, even hearing about a straight couple is something.″

He turned back to his desk in silence.

‟Oh, come on! If you're not going to let me into the field, at least give me something to get my mind off my boredom.″

Tim sighed as he sat down. ‟I –‟ but, thank the heavens, his phone cut him off. Angel looked extremely disappointed.

‟Boss,″ Matt said, ‟we got the warrant. You ready?″

‟On my way.″ He looked at Angel with a falsely sympathetic face. ‟Sorry, sweetie. Looks like you'll have to bother someone else if you're bored. I hear Bobby's got a new cat named Thumbelina. Why don't you ask him about that.″

She actually looked intrigued.

The two men were exactly where Charlotte said they would be. They pulled up in front of a boat by the name of _The Sphinx,_ and exited the car.

Amy cracked her knuckles comically and looked to Tim. ‟So, how are we going to do this? I've never arrested someone on a boat before.″

Tim sighed exasperatedly. ‟ _You_ are going to stay here and wait for us to come back. I meant it when I said 'observe.'″

She looked disappointed. ‟Well, what if one of them gets past you?″

He rolled his eyes, looking as Matt adjusted his handcuffs. ‟If, by some chance, one of them gets past both of us and out the one exit to the boat, then, yes. You may get them.″

She nodded, eyes alert with anticipation. ‟Right. Good luck.″

‟Thanks. Come on, Jericho.″

The two men fit the description exactly. Tim and Matt took them into custody without very much effort. They took them back to NCIS and placed them into separate interrogation rooms.

‟So what do you say, Boss?″ Angel asked him as the whole team stood in the hallway outside of the rooms. ‟I could go in there and throw them off with my womanly charms, and then you can come in and take them down.″ She waggled her eyebrows. ‟Come on. You know that's perfect.″

She did this every time. ‟Angel,″ Tim said, long-sufferingly. ‟I think Matt and I can handle it. I need you to try and show Amy what to look for.″

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‟I would trust no one else to talk as much as you. Surely, Amy can manage to wrangle something useful out of it.″

  
  


**Angel**

So Angel stood in the observation room, arms crossed and glaring at the back of McGee's head. Amy stood next to her, hands on the bottom frame of the window, and nose less then an inch away from the glass. She gazed intently at the scene before her.

‟So...″ Angel said, and Amy looked to her. ‟Why'd you get into law enforcement?″

‟What?″

‟Well, surely there were better options. No staying up late checking out leads. Something with no risk of getting shot every time you go into the field. Why this?″

Amy blinked at the rapid slew of words. ‟Oh, uh, well.... I don't know.″ She looked back to the interrogation room. McGee was staring silently at the suspect, waiting for him to make the first move. ‟I just wanted to do better than everybody thought that I would.″

‟What is that supposed to mean?″

‟I – well, I didn't come from the best family, and so nobody really expected me to achieve anything. And law enforcement is really... I don't know. Noble.″

‟Noble?″

‟Yeah.″

‟You wanted to be noble″

‟Yes.″ She looked back up to Angel.

Angel shrugged. ‟Fair enough.″ She turned her back to the window and continued to stare at Amy. ‟But why NCIS?″

‟The recognition?″

Angel snorted, Amy grinned. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

‟Ever killed anyone?″

Her eyes widened at the abrupt question. ‟Um.... No.″

‟Ever been shot at?″

‟Yes.″

‟Get shot?″

‟No.″

‟Did you shoot back?″

‟Yes.″

‟Do you have a boyfriend?″

‟Not right now.″

‟Ever been with a woman before?″ Angel asked, turning her body more towards Amy.

‟No.″ Amy squared off with her.

‟Were you bullied in high school?″

‟No. And I didn't bully anyone, in case that's your next question.″

‟Sports?″

‟Basketball.″

‟Music?″

‟...classic rock.″

‟Favorite color?″

‟Purple.″

‟How do you feel about – ″

The door to the observation room suddenly flew open, snapping their attention to it. McGee stood there, looking like he could murder them both. ‟Would you two keep it down? You're screwing up my interrogation.″

‟Yes, Boss.″

‟Sorry.″

  
  



	16. Hard to Handle

Chapter 16: Hard To Handle

Hard to Handle—The Black Crowes

“ _I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I needed to be.”_

**Amy**

‟Come on, Mattie, tell me something good.″ Angel was standing behind his desk chair, looking on as he typed something into his computer.

Amy tried to look at what they were doing as she passed them, but Angel shooed her off before she could get a glimpse. ‟Nonya business, Travis. Move along.″

Slightly hurt, Amy deposited her bag and coffee cup at her desk and looked to McGee who was staring at his own computer intently, ignoring whatever Angel and Matt were doing; he looked like he meant business. It was a pretty normal morning all in all. They all did their own thing and she did hers. Even after a month.

She fixed her jacket on the back of her chair and sat, turning on her own computer, intent on finishing a report from a couple days before.

‟Yes!″ Angel exclaimed, throwing a fist into the air. ‟Good work.″ She ruffled Matt's dark curly hair, earning herself an elbow to the stomach, but she didn't seem to care. She practically bounced back to her desk. She sat and spun in her chair for a moment, face upturned toward the skylight and blonde curls flowing out behind her. It was a wonder they didn't get caught on something. That would be funny.

Amy must have smiled at the thought, because Angel stopped spinning and looked at her, narrowing her eyes. Amy could have sworn they had a predatory glint in them. ‟What's up, Travis?″ That was the only thing Angel ever called her. Never Amy, never 'partner', and never even 'Probie,' although Amy had come to expect it. 'Probie' was all Ziva's agent Johnathan Fitzpatrick was called by his partners, as were many other Probationary Status agents that she'd met.

Angel sat forward, elbows resting on the edge of the desk. ‟Can I help you with something?″

Amy just shook her head, forcing her eyes back onto her computer screen, though Angel continued to stare. She'd been caught in her snare, and Amy knew it.

‟You know, Travis... I heard something about you the other day.″ Amy looked over to her, and Angel smirked. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Maybe if she just ignored her, she'd stop.

No such luck. ‟It was... what's his name – Rick. He's a secretary in Accounting. He said that he saw you tucked into a corner with Agent Sanstrom. How's he doing, by the way?″

Oh, that, she thought, looking back down. Amy tried not to let her cheeks flush as she shrugged. ‟He's fine.″ Short and sweet. Maybe if she didn't elaborate –.

‟Just 'fine' is he?″ out of the corner of her eye she saw Angel still gazing at her. She seemed absolutely gleeful. ‟Was that before or after you doctored him up a bit? A little nookie in the broom closet, some –‟

‟Angel,″ McGee snapped, cutting her off.

‟Sorry, Boss.″

Amy kept her head down, wishing Angel would stop looking at her like that.

She was saved from further embarrassment by McGee's phone beeping. He checked it quickly, and then stood, everyone else following suit. ‟Dead Marine. Southern edge of D.C.″

The house – Amy had to say it – was _nice_. The Marine, as it turned out, was a lieutenant colonel who lived stateside and worked at the base in Norfolk. He was unmarried, unattached to anything but the military and, apparently, his home. It had a huge front porch that wrapped around the exterior, with hand carved wooden pedestals painted bronze. The two story building was immaculately painted white and had what looked like to castle towers in the front culminating in twin spires at their peaks. She was still staring at it in awe when Angel nudged her in the back. ‟Seen enough? Come on, we're working, not admiring the sights.″

Amy scoffed. ‟You're one to talk, Angel, the way you kept zoning out in that yoga classroom last week. I was interviewing; you were staring at some ass.″

Matt smirked.

‟What?″ Angel said. ‟I'm not blind.″

‟Just completely unprofessional,″ said Matt.

‟I resent that comment.″

‟Come on,″ McGee said, leading the way into the house. Angel piled her load of equipment into Amy's arms with a grin. ‟I'm very professional,″ she said, and walked off.

Amy rolled her eyes, following dutifully behind.

The inside of the house was no less grand; sleek, yet ornate furniture, family pictures and scenic photographs lining the walls, bookshelves, DVD cases, and a large flat screen TV. It was crafted with such splendor, so much care towards the visual. There was so much in it, so much time and effort, but it seemed almost untouched. It was dusted and orderly, yet, also impersonal, like a museum. The showiness and flare took away from the warmth of a home that Amy was used to. Amy said. ‟Looks like he was pretty passionate about appearances. The place is perfect.″

Angel nodded, following her train of thought. ‟A little too perfect, if you ask me.″

A uniformed officer showed them to the kitchen. The victim, Lieutenant Colonel Wayne Shepperton, was sprawled face-down on the floor, with a large kitchen knife sticking out of his back.

When Angel saw him, she said, ‟Well, I think we all know the cause of death.″

McGee sniffed.

Matt snapped on his gloves and made his way back out of the kitchen, presumably to make a quick search of the house.

McGee sniffed again.

‟What's wrong, Boss?″ Angel quipped. ‟That sniffer of yours on the track of something?″

McGee shook his head, swiping at his nose with his jacket sleeve. ‟It's just a bit cold outside.″

Angel gave him a disinterested look and grabbed the fingerprinting kit out of Amy's arms, getting to work. ‟Whatever you say.″ A moment later, ‟Find anything, Matt?″ she asked without turning around.

‟No other bloodstains or disturbed objects in the rest of the house.″

McGee studied the scene in front of him. ‟Doesn't appear to have been a struggle at all. Somebody just snuck up behind him and stabbed him in the back.″ He sniffed again and coughed, attempting to rid his voice of the sudden roughness. ‟Alright, Matt sketch the scene, Angel, you loo-loo-″ and he sneezed, bringing up his jacket to cover his face.

They all stared at him. ‟What the hell?″ Angel offered. ‟You weren't sick when we were outside.″ She looked around as if something in the room had caused the sudden outburst.

Matt cleared his throat and nodded toward the corner of the kitchen furthest from the body. McGee sneezed again and Angel giggled. Amy was confused. ‟I don't get it.″

McGee sneezed three times in quick succession, and ran from the room like a bat out of hell. They heard the front door being thrown open and the patter of hurried steps on the porch. Amy looked around at her partners, eyes narrowed. ‟What just happened?″

Angel pointed at the kitty litter box and the food/water bowl in the corner. ‟The Boss is allergic to cats.″ They heard another behemoth of a sneeze from outside. She then pointed to the back door which had a small cat flap cut into the lower half. ‟It must have gotten out.″

Even Matt was smirking. ‟It _really_ pisses him off.″

Amy couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping her lips. Angel followed suit, letting out a low pitched trill of laughter that seemed to fill the entire room and put Amy a little more at ease with her surroundings. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.

She, but nobody else, jumped when a sharp _tap-tap-tap_ was heard at the back door. McGee stood at the glass door, looking in at them all, an extremely unpleasant look on his face, which still did little to cover up the bright red splotches surrounding his nose and eyes. Amy stopped smiling at once.

He spoke, clearly intent on not letting something as ridiculous as an allergy get in the way of doing his job. ‟Angel, look and see if the knife in his back matches the ones in his drawer.″

‟What?″ she said, looking as if she was hard of hearing. Amy was confused for a second. McGee was speaking perfectly clear.

‟I said, check the kitchen drawers. See if the attacker used the Lieutenant Colonel's knives.″

‟I'm sorry, what?″

‟Angel, stop it. Do what I said.″

‟I still can't hear you. You'll have to speak up.″

At once, the splotches weren't the reddest thing about McGee's face as he bristled in anger. ‟Angel, if you don't stop that _right_ now, you are _so_ _fired_.″

‟I'm sorry, I can't read lips.″

‟Angel!″

‟That cat hair must be messing with your brain, McGee.″ She pointed at her her own head, making the slightest of circles with her finger. ‟You just don't realize that you're not making any sound.″

McGee huffed in exasperation, and looked to Matt who had wandered over to the body and was examining the bloodstains on the floor. ‟Matt, look for the knife.″

Matt, however, did not look up, acting as if he didn't hear the order.

McGee was livid. He muttered a few curses which were heard quite distinctly even through the glass barrier, and then looked to Amy. ‟Amy,″ he almost whispered.

She almost took a step back, as if it would keep his intense, angry stare at bay, but she stopped herself. Hells bells if she would let something like that scare her. She saw Angel staring at her, almost imperceptibly shaking her head, telling/threatening her to play along. She looked back to McGee, whose face hastily switched from an angry stare to an alluring smile, with a touch of competitiveness in his eyes. Only one would win this battle, and they all knew it.

Amy nodded and went over to the cutlery drawer. She shoved a hand into a latex glove and pulled the drawer open, revealing a set of three knives exactly matching the murder weapon. She picked one up and showed it to McGee and Angel.

McGee smiled at her, in the knowledge of her loyalty, and then turned back to Angel and Matt. ‟Angel, will you please start collecting evidence? Matt, sketch the scene. I'd like to get out of here by lunch.″ He appeared to to be willing to ignore her blatant insubordination, and forgive, if they were willing to comply with his current demands.

Angel was having none of it. ‟What?″ she said loudly, cupping a hand around her ear.

McGee's frustration tipped over the edge. ‟Alright! That's it! You're both fired, Amy can stay.″

Angel and Matt both shrugged as if it was nothing, but then, mercifully, did as they were asked, while Amy tried to hold onto her worried laughter. McGee nodded in satisfaction, and spun on his heel to head back to the front of the house.

Amy swallowed nervously and looked at the other two, who were acting as if nothing out of the normal had just occurred. She sighed and went to assist them.

And when McGee offered to buy her lunch later, she accepted with a sense of accomplishment, knowing that at least _he_ considered her a fitting part of the team now.

Amy sat back in her chair and hit the 'submit report' button. _Thank God_. She rubbed her eyes and looked around the darkened bullpen, lit only by computer screens and a lone lamp. It was empty, save for her team, who had stayed late after an excruciatingly difficult case.

Angel was sitting in front of Matt's desk, feet propped up on it, looking at something on her phone. And not doing her paperwork. Matt was typing on his computer, showing no signs of fatigue.

Amy stood up and gathered her things. Nobody seemed to notice so she cleared her throat and stepped up to McGee's desk. ‟Uh – I'm done, Boss. Alright if I head out?″

He nodded without looking up from the file he had been reading.

Angel didn't look up as Amy passed by her, instead a small smile appeared on her lips as she continued to stare fixedly at her phone. Amy walked by and glanced surreptitiously at the screen, stalling for a second when she saw what, or rather who, the picture was of. She knew that face. It was the one from the folder given to her by the Director on her first day.

Shauna St. Claire, the agent they'd lost.

She smiled easily, standing beside a teenage boy with dark, curly hair, against a backdrop of what must have been a carnival. Amy recognized him from the photographs on Ziva's desk. Natanael, her seventeen year old son. They had their hands clasped limply around each others throats, eyes wide and comical. Angel swiped her finger across he screen, bringing up a new picture, this one of Shauna shooting a toy rifle at a carnival game. Her face was tight with concentration, much to the dismay of the game operator.

Amy looked quickly at Matt, who had been watching her every move through unrelenting eyes. Almost imperceptibility, he ticked his head to the right, towards the exit. Then, just as slight, the corners of his mouth tilted upwards and he looked back at his computer.

Nodding back, Amy made her way to the elevator and rode it down in silence.

What had she been like? The agent they'd lost. From the meager amount of information Amy had seen, Shauna seemed really nice. More than that; nicer than most. Maybe she would have helped Amy out with the team?

But with what happened to her... what Angel saw.... It was no wonder Angel wouldn't open up.

Nobody talked about her, not ever even the slightest mention, but it was clear that they though about her constantly. That they were still in mourning. How they all must see Amy? Another young woman, green and probably trying too hard, just jumping in and taking over the job of a good friend. No wonder they ignored her.

Amy walked solemnly out the entrance and towards the car lot. But what could she do? She wasn't trying to replace anybody. Why should she have to prove that?

The next day, they appeared to be finally be getting some downtime in the office. Mostly, Angel was taking care of all her backed up reports at once, and would threaten to shoot anyone that came near her while she did. She was, however, not so perturbed by the constant chiming of her phone, which she always dropped everything for and responded immediately to. But if Amy thought that was weird, then she wasn't going to say anything. Whoever Angel was texting seemed to be the only thing keeping her sane. Matt was nowhere to be seen, which wasn't so unusual – he tended to disappear when no one was looking and come back before you actually knew you needed him. Usually right in the nick of time and with whatever you needed him to have. Agent McGee had cracked open an old computer of his which he brought from home, grumbling about something technical that Amy couldn't hope to fathom the meaning of. He tinkered with what she recognized as the motherboard with a tiny soldering device,which was making fizzling sounds every few seconds.

Amy, who didn't have a hobby, and who usually finished her work on time, had very little to keep her occupied. Normally, she didn't get antsy, but it had been a very tense couple of months with her new team. Maybe if she had someone she could actually talk to.... Perhaps if she could just get up and get out for a few minutes, she'd get the motivation to look through the cold case files tucked away in her desk like she should.

She stood quietly, trying not to garner attention, and made her retreat down the stairs and past the security guard with a small smile.

When she returned however, chaos reigned.

‟You're getting careless in your old age, Bossman,″ Angel was saying. She had McGee perched on the edge of her desk, and was poking at the shiny red burn on the back of his hand. Matt, who had mysteriously returned, had the fire extinguisher from the staircase that led up to MTAC, and he stood over McGee's opened computer. As Amy watched, he gave it another spurt of white dust, just to be thorough.

Amy crept slowly toward the scene, unsure of what to do, but the decision was quickly taken from her when Angel spotted her and the bottle of water that she had just purchased from a vendor on the street outside. She snatched it up with a, ‟Thanks, Travis,″ and poured part of it over a gray bandana that she kept in the top drawer of her desk, then proceeded to touch it to Agent McGee's hand, which she held carefully in her own.

He winced at the contact at first, but then he took the bandana from her and held it to the burn himself, visibly relaxing as the pain subsided. Angel nodded her approval, and then went to where Matt was still keeping an eye on the burnt plastic.

Amy stepped a bit closer to her boss. ‟Are you okay?″ she asked, mildly.

He nodded, then, ‟Thanks for the water.″ He looked sheepish, embarrassed.

‟Oh, no worries,″ she said. ‟Glad it could help. I've always had really good timing.″ He gave a slight smile.

They both looked up to see Angel inspecting the computer with a practiced eye. She leaned in close, gave a sniff, crinkled her nose, and then looked to Matt. He shook his head, gave the computer a cursory once over, and then announced his prognosis, while Angel nodded in agreement.

‟I think it's dead.″

McGee sighed, upset, and Amy fought off an amused grin.

After Matt and Angel had carted the deceased off to the garbage dump, and Amy had told McGee to keep the water so that he could keep the rag wet, things seemed to settle back a little. Amy had the news open on her computer, but paid little attention to it, rather more intrigued by her coworkers. Angel went back to her paperwork, though her mood was lighter as she attempted fervently not to burst out laughing every time she caught McGee's pouting form in her sights again. She went back to texting again, an evil grin on her face. Matt stayed at his desk, eyes closed and breathing evenly. For all the world knew, he was asleep, though Amy had a feeling that he was just honing his other senses by shutting off his sight. Every once in a while, his face would twitch in concentration, though Amy heard nothing that should elicit any sort of reaction. McGee, still grumbling, messed around on his computer, a pained expression erupting every time the bandana fell off his hand.

In a way, Agent McGee sort of reminded Amy of her second training officer (after she had been traded off for being too much of a wild card... which, by the way, Amy had absolutely nothing on what Angel and Matt did on a regular basis). Officer Sergeant Michelle Briggs was a tough as nails, punch-you-in-the-face-for-being-an-idiot kind of person. Like her, McGee refused to take crap from his people. But unlike Lieutenant Briggs, he understood when to let things go. He knew that, in order to keep a sane working environment, that sometimes it was just easier to go with the flow of things and not overreact to poorly attempted witticism.

For example:

Ziva arrived back in the office about an hour after the combustible motherboard incident, sans her team, who were presumably still out in the field. She waved to Angel and Amy, who had seen her come in. Amy smiled back, but Angel crooked a finger and jerked her head in McGee's direction. Ziva's eyebrows knitted in confusion, but she came over anyway, stopping in front of McGee's desk without saying a word. Without any sort of indication of Ziva's arrival in their midst, Matt opened his eyes to better track her progress.

Ziva crossed her arms and set her hips, silently demanding an explanation of the cloth wrapped around his hand, and the still lingering scent of burnt plastic. McGee had the decency to look shameful, and Ziva leaned forward, tenderly pulling the bandana away from the burn. She sighed, and walked around the divider to her own desk, rummaged around in it for a minute, and then came back.

She pulled the material away again, ignoring the way the lack of moisture on the wound tightened his features. Then she unscrewed the cap of what Amy recognized as a tube of Oragel, and squeezed some onto her finger. She took his hand in hers and gently rubbed the medicine over the burn.

Slowly but surely, the tension in McGee's body eased, and he smiled appreciatively at Ziva, their eyes locking for an uncomfortable amount of time. Only then, did Amy realize just how stupid she was, that she hadn't seen how they felt about each other earlier. It was ridiculous how obvious it was, actually. She glanced over at Angel, who gave her a smug smile, waggling her eyebrows suggestively and making an obscene gesture with her hands.

Amy snorted, and then, when she saw McGee and Ziva turn curiously towards her, she tried to play it off as a cough. McGee, however, did not miss Angel's gesture. Amy was a little afraid that she'd get the flack for it as well, but McGee just flipped Angel off and then took Ziva's hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles in thanks.

Even Matt looked shocked.

_Christmas Eve_

Amy knocked nervously on the door of Agent David's home. Since she'd been assigned, Amy hadn't really spent time socially with her coworkers, but, when Ziva had found out that Amy couldn't afford to fly back to North Dakota for the holidays, she'd insisted that Amy come to the Christmas/Hanukah celebration she held every year.

Angel was already there, as were McGee, Palmer, Breena and their kids, and Tony, Abby, and Michah DiNozzo. (Bobby, Matt, and the rest of Ziva's team were out of town for the holidays.)

Tony and Abby, old friends and colleagues, had apparently decided to come up this year from Hawaii, along with their seventeen year old (adopted) daughter Michah. They were an... interesting bunch. Tony talked a lot, and introduced himself to Amy with a full background of how he knew everybody, leaving out none of the gory, and sometimes explicit details. Surely, Amy's eyes had never before been so wide. Abby just hugged her, and said how happy she was that McGee had found such a sweet team member. Amy had found out then that McGee had told them about her, which made her probably happier than she should have felt. And then there was Michah, who, even though she was only a few years younger than Amy, was big. Like, bigger than most girls Amy had ever known, and nearly as tall as Tony. She had sun-bleached blonde hair that fell in waves over her tanned skin, nothing like her parents, though you wouldn't mistake the love that she held for them. She talked about surfing a lot, complained about the cold, and called everybody she spoke to 'brah', but Amy liked her. She was a cool kid. Much cooler than _she_ had been at that age.

Amy also finally got to meet Natanael, as well as Gabby, 5, and Casey, 3 (Doctor Palmer and Breena Palmer's kids). They were all really sweet, nice kids, and before too long, Amy found herself ambushed by the two little girls. They asked a multitude of questions (most of them, 'why'), but they seemed to accept her pretty quickly.

Eventually, after all the introductions, and the obligatory chit chat one had to endure when it came to meeting new people, things calmed a bit into some easy conversation. Or not.

‟Tony,″ said Agent McGee, glancing over at Natanael, Michah, Gabby, and Casey, who were gathered in front of the tv, watching the Jim Carrey version _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_. ‟I hardly think this conversation is appropriate.″

Tony smiled, smacking McGee on the back. ‟It's okay, they can't hear us. I'm just saying, at least I know that my wife's only had sex with two people in this room. It's always kind of weird going back to her hometown. And I thought that _I_ got out a lot.″

A small cough made him look at Abby. _Oh no_ , thought Amy, _this never turns out well for the kids_.

‟What?″ said Tony. ‟It's only the two of us right.″ A shocked look appeared on his face, as his head swung to look at Doctor Palmer. ‟Palmer, you dog.″

Breena burst out laughing when the doctor's face exploded in color. ‟What!? I didn't! Abby, tell him.″

Abby just had a wry smile on her face.

‟Abby!″

Schooling her features, she finally shook her head, ‟No. It wasn't Jimmy.″

Tony looked at her for a moment, confused. ‟Well, the only other guy here is seventeen. If it wasn't Palmer, then...″ A rather appalled expression crossed his face, and he slowly turned to stare at Angel...

...who had become rather fascinated with the ceiling tiles.

‟You!″ he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger. Then turned back to Abby. ‟And you?!″ He looked genuinely confused, like he didn't know whether to be turned on or pissed off.

McGee clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‟At least it's only three.″

Amy looked at Angel, to see her actually looking guilty. If ever there was a look she hadn't expected to see on the woman's face.... Abby snorted, reached over, and punched her in the arm, effectively wiping the look away, and replacing it with something far-less appropriate for young viewers.

Angel, the evil, terrible human being that she was, had decided that tonight of all nights would be a good time to get Amy drunk. Something she had obviously previously done to co-workers, going from the exasperated eye rolls going around the living room.

Tactfully waiting until the Doctor had taken his wife and daughters home, Angel had cornered her on the couch with a bottle of red wine and two glasses, insisting that alcohol brought out who a person really was on the inside.

That, and she was already pretty tipsy herself, and nobody else wanted to drink with her. Apparently _they_ knew better.

So. This was how Amy found herself with Angel, out on Ziva's back porch, giggling like they were six years old. Amy drew a blanket tighter around her chest, trying to keep the cold at bay, while they reclined on a couple of laid back patio chairs. The sky was completely black, giving nothing away other than a steely cold glare, the darkness a stark contrast to the lights of the surrounding houses. If she closed her eyes, she could just imagine she was home, looking up at the stars with her brothers and nephews.

‟I have a question,″ Amy said, pretending that it didn't come out sounding more like, 'I huva quession.' If only for her own sanity.

Angel pointed two fingers at her and cocked her thumb like a gun. ‟Shoot.″ She smirked at her own joke.

Amy smiled back. ‟You've been awful secretive lately. You know, texting a lot, running away when you get a call on your personal cell. And I haven't heard a peep about your sex life in over a month.″

‟... I don't hear a question in there.″

‟What're'you hiding? Or, who are you hiding.″

A blush that Amy was sure had nothing to do with the wine crept up over her cheeks, but Angel remained painfully quiet. ‟Come, on,″ Amy pushed. ‟You can tell me. Matt knows, I'm sure of it, but he's not giving anything away.″

‟Yeah, because he knows what he'll get.″

‟Just tell me,″ she needled.

After a moment, Angel gave a resigned sigh. ‟Fine. I'll tell you, but you have to promise to keep your big mouth shut.″

‟Deal,″ she answered without hesitation.

She sighed again. ‟Fine. I – I met this girl.″

‟Ooh. What's her name?″

‟Sierra. Sierra Thames.″

‟Like the... river?″

‟Yeah.″

Amy waited, but Angel didn't elaborate. ‟Well?″

‟Well _what_?″

‟Well... what's she like?″

‟She's... sweet. She's a nurse at Georgetown University Hospital. Met her a few months ago when I got pistol whipped by that douchebag drug dealer. I may have been a little delirious when I went in, but she said she thought it was cute.″

‟Awww.″ _Angel has a girlfriend! Angel has a girlfriend!_

‟Shut up. I feel like I'm being interrogated.″ She glared for a moment, but it was in good humor. ‟Any more questions?″

She had a feeling that she was going to regret this in the morning, but she asked it anyway. ‟Well.... How come you never call me Probie?″

Angel was quiet for a moment. Then, ‟Don't I?″

Amy was certain that Angel knew perfectly well that she didn't.

‟No.″

‟Are you sure – ″

‟Angel.″

‟...It was _her_ name.″ She flicked a wrist dismissively, taking another sip.

‟Whose? Shauna's?″

‟Yes. It's – it's just... Every time I look over and see you in her desk, I just... it makes me sad. And calling you... that... would just make it worse. Like she's really gone, you know.″

‟But she _is_ gone.″

‟... I know.″

Amy frowned, clutching her wine glass closer to her chest. Clearing her throat, and snuggling further back into the chair, she said, ‟That's kinda not fair.″

‟I know.″

Alcohol. The ultimate truth serum.

Also.... the cruel lowerer of inhibitions. While they were outside, as was apparently a tradition in the David household, mistletoe was strung up, and the _really_ awkward moments began cropping up.

Tony and Abby found every opportunity, and seemed to be the only ones who didn't find the whole situation uncomfortable.

And their combined effort, along with Ziva's, found two red-faced, awkward teenagers forced to kiss one another on the cheeks, while their parents and McGee hooted and hollered, discussing rather loudly how cute it would be if their kids got together. Amy felt embarrassed for them.

Though, that put Natanael and Michah into revenge mode, during which they surreptitiously trapped the grownups, in various parings, under the vile plant. Tony and McGee were first. Needless to say, Tony was all-to-happy to oblige, giving McGee a big wet kiss on the foreheard. Angel and Abby were next, much to Tony's utter displeasure. In retaliation, and a highly unsuccessful attempt to piss Abby off (who had been _quite a bit_ more enthusiastic than he'd liked) he practically shoved Amy into Angel, with a smug smile on his face.

Amy looked at Angel, who merely shrugged, grabbed Amy round the shoulders, and pulled her stumblingly forwards. Amy, in her similarly drunken state, mentally shrugged as well – though it was more of a lopsided, drugged up twitch – and grabbed a handful of curly hair and deepened the kiss, eliciting cat calls around the room.

When they broke apart with a smack, Angel winked and then stumbled off to face plant on the couch with a muffled giggle. Amy straightened as much as she could to try and uphold her dignity – though the lack of air had left her rather dizzy – and followed Angel down, sitting heavily on the back of her legs.

Knowing she'd have trouble looking Angel in the eye for the next few weeks, yet being a little too drunk to care, Amy closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the couch, suddenly remembering just how sleepy she got when she drank. Surely Sweet Sierra wouldn't care. It was the alcohol's fault.

When she awoke hours later in the dark (and somehow on the floor, while Angel kept the couch – _jerk_ ) she just manged to catch a glimpse of pretty much the only two people who hadn't managed to get forced under the mistletoe before, embracing and gently swaying back and forth by the Hanukkah Menorah.

McGee and Ziva were so wrapped up in one another that neither seemed to notice Amy looking at them. She watched for a minute – feeling intrusive, yet intrigued – and saw McGee whisper something, then – finally – go in for a kiss.

A muffled sound of surprise emitted from Ziva as she wrapped her arms further around his neck, bringing their bodies closer together. McGee ran a subtle hand up Ziva's back, and wrapped the other arm tighter around her waist. Amy almost balked at the tenderness between the two. They were soft where Tony and Abby were rough. Serious, where the others were playful.

Clearly the two of them had been a long time coming... and Amy couldn't be more happy.


	17. Broken Things

Chapter Seventeen: Broken Things

Broken Things – Ryan Adams

_If the price of Beauty had been blindness, I would have looked._

_March_

**Angel**

Some things Amy does remind her of Shauna, and other things don't. She is comparing Amy to Shauna too much. This is something that she has to learn to stop.

Seeing her following Bobby around his lab. That hurts.

Listening to her rant about how doughnuts have ruined her life. Shauna never cared about stuff like that.

Amy being one of the few people who could make Matt smile reminds her of Every. Single. Time. Shauna had accomplished that exact same feat.

Kissing her at the Christmas party three months ago. Funny, tasted like peppermint, but definitely not something Shauna would have ever done. Their one kiss was under different, more... harried circumstances.

Hearing her ask McGee, Angel, Matt, Bobby, Palmer, and pretty much everyone else they worked with a million questions, each as relevant and reasonable as the last, drove her crazy, but didn't remind her of Shauna. Shauna learned more by osmosis than having to be told.

Watching her sit in _Shauna's chair_ , and at _Shauna's desk_ , and _taking Shauna's place_. It twisted her gut with anger and frustration and loss, which she tried not to direct toward Amy, but sometimes found difficult.

Seeing how McGee looked at Amy sometimes, like he saw their relationship as a sort of father/daughter thing? It made Angel think that he used to look at Shauna like that, and it made her miss her even more. For everyone's sakes.

This is Angel's Delusional Sense of Misplaced Jealousy. Get over yourself. Amy is your Probie now. Learn to let go and move forward with your life.

This is Angel's Irrational Anger at That Which Cannot Be Changed. She's gone. She's never coming back, and Amy is not trying to take her place.

This is Angel's Profound Inability to Bury the Dead. It's been months, yet you still can't seem to let that moment go, when all you see is trees and the back of a red pickup truck, and all you hear is the angry shout from your pursuer, and the scream of fear from your best friend.

**Amy**

It's decided, thought Amy to herself. She was officially working with the most maddening people she'd ever met.

What she said out loud was, ‟Matt, you're so badass.″

He just smirked at her from where he hung upside down by his knees from the catwalk of the combination brewery/distillery they were in, a large pocket knife clenched between his teeth. They were collecting evidence. Or they were supposed to be. Matt, at least, had an excuse for messing around because it was the easiest way he could reach the mechanics at the back of the distillery unit. Amy watched him with interest as he poked through the wires to find out where the mechanical failure had been. He was the American James bond, she was sure of it.

Angel, on the other hand, had sweet talked her way into a tour of the facility by the Brewmaster, and was currently in the tasting room, sampling the different varieties. ‟In order to be thorough,″ she'd said.

‟Don't tell McGee,″ she'd also said.

Amy looked thoughtfully at the twisted remains of the still where the pressure had built to a critical degree, completely unnoticed because the temperature gauge had malfunctioned, and had exploded, killing a reserve naval officer in the process.

‟So, what do you think, Matt. Did someone screw with the... uh, what did you call it?″ she asked him.

‟The maximum capacity temperature alert systematic.″

‟You're making that up, right? It sounds like something from a movie.″

He raised an eyebrow at her, and then went back to his work.

‟Well, doesn't it have an alarm or something? Something that'll tell you if it's too hot?″

‟Yes. That's what I'm looking at.″

‟Oh. Okay. So what do you think?″

‟Pass me the camera.″

She did, standing on her toes to reach his outstretched hand. He snapped a few pictures from different angles, passed the camera back, and then did a full hanging sit up to reach the catwalk and extract his legs. He dropped lithe and silent to the floor just as McGee walked up to them.

‟What is it, Jericho? Accident or murder?″

‟The wires were crossed, shutting off the early warning system. Only a professional would have the capability.″

‟And,″ Amy supplied, ‟as it was only the victim who would be working in here today, it's clear that it was intentional against him specifically. It was murder.″

McGee nodded grimly, eyes flicking briefly to the body being carted out by Doctor Palmer's new Assistant Medical Examiner, Phoebe Chang. Then, as if realizing something, he turned back and glanced around the open space. ‟Where's Angel?″

‟Um,″ said Amy.

Matt pointed towards the Brewmaster's office, features revealing nothing. McGee just rolled his eyes and went to knock on the door, but was cut off mid-act by Angel coming out. She said, in the most irritatingly confident voice, one that gave away nothing, and one that Amy could never hope to replicate, ‟Oh, hey, Boss. So, yeah, it's a really small business, and there are only three people who work here who'd have access to the specialized equipment. The victim being one of them. Guess who that leaves?″

McGee didn't guess, but Angel continued anyway. ‟It leaves the Brewmaster – nice guy by the way – and the other distillery worker. And guess who hasn't been heard from since yesterday?″

McGee nodded approvingly, turning back to Amy and Matt, while Angel burped behind her hand.

‟I guess we know who the killer is then,″ Amy mused.

McGee nodded again. ‟So what's our next step, Miss Travis?″

‟Uh... find him?″

McGee raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'no, duh,' and walked back out of the building, presumably to talk to the doctor.

When he was gone, Angel stepped up and whacked Amy on the back of the head with a resounding slap. ‟Ow!″ she squeaked. ‟What the hell was that for?″

‟For not covering for me. That's what partners are supposed to do. Rule number 1: Never screw over your partner.″

‟What? I thought it was 'Never let suspects stay together'. What idiot came up with these rules? And besides, Matt was the one who gave you up. Maybe you shouldn't be drinking on the job.″

Angel only responded by head slapping her again. ‟Ow!″

‟And that was for selling out your other partner. Have I taught you nothing?″

**McGee**

Johnathan was the first to go.

Or the first to lose his lunch, as the case presented itself. Ziva's team had gotten back later than usual, due to the fact that the double murder they were currently investigating had taken place nearly an hour away. Ziva had opted out of going to lunch with her underlings in order to have a quick bite with Natanael and his new girlfriend. Tim had gotten the vague impression on the phone that Ziva was not above giving the ‟You break him, I'll break you″ speech to the girl.

And as it was, Sarah, Maxine, and Johnathan had gone out to eat – he found out later that it was from some street vendor that Sarah had heard recommended. They all had the same thing: some Korean style hamburger with some sort of fish which was a bit too far past it's expiration date. Apparently, after that, it was just a matter of who had the strongest stomach.

As he'd said, Johnathan was the first to go.

The bullpen, had been deathly silent for the past hour. Ziva, and her team were searching for clues in cyberspace, Matt and Angel were out following a lead, and Amy was ‟bothering″ Bobby into making a quick run of their samples. But the silence was suddenly broken by a low groan coming from across the divider. Tim looked over to see a rather green-looking Johnathan holding his stomach and looking panicked. In a flash, he shot up and ran towards the far end of the room, and didn't stop until he'd mistakenly burst through the door to the women's restroom.

Tim traded a concerned look with Ziva, and she glanced to Maxine, giving her a ‟go-check-on-him″ look. Maxine went to comply, following her probie into the lavatory.

Tim, assuming that he probably had the flu or something, went back to his work. When they didn't come back for almost five minutes, however, he looked at Ziva again. She squinted her eyes in confusion, and opened her mouth to say something, but that was when Sarah's stomach finally threw in the towel, and she hurled into the trash can by her desk.

Tim stood up, leaving Ziva to tend to the redhead, and headed quickly toward the women's. As soon as he opened the door, the sound of retching was heard, not from one, but from both occupants. He went further in, and stopped when he reached two open stalls.

Crap.

Well, Ziva had seemed fine, so maybe it wasn't something they'd picked up from the crime scene. And he felt perfectly healthy, so it couldn't have been anything at NCIS.

Johnathan sat back, and leaned back against the shared wall between his and Maxine's stalls, pale-faced and panting. Tim lifted his shirt to cover the smell in the room. ‟You okay?″ he asked, over the sounds of Maxine still slumped over the toilet seat.

Johnathan swallowed thickly, but made no attempt to move. ‟Peachy,″ he croaked, eyes sliding closed.

Tim nodded. ‟Maxine?″

She raised one hand and gave him a shaky thumbs up. She seemed to be cooling down anyway.

‟I'll be right back.″ Tim said, making for the door. Back in the workspace, Ziva was patting Sarah on the back as she sat, shivering, curled up around the trashcan. ‟What the hell just happened?″ he murmured to Ziva.

Ziva shrugged, but Sarah looked up at them with teary eyes, and said, ‟Bad... burgers. Going to... kill... my cousin.″

Ziva smiled sympathetically.

The three amigos still looked pretty sick, but after a quick visit down to Jimmy, they insisted on staying and figuring out the case. Though, when they end of the day came, they left without much fight, heading out single file to the elevator, and Tim had to fight the urge to laugh at the pathetic looks on their faces.

He went to stand beside a worried-looking Ziva as she watched them go, linking his fingers through hers. ‟They'll be fine. No need for that worried mother look.″

She raised an eyebrow at him, but ignored the jibe. ‟So... where to?″

‟Well,″ he said. ‟I don't think I'll be going out to eat any time soon. How about your place.″ It wasn't an uncommon place for them to end up most nights anyway.

Ziva waggled her eyebrows suggestively and leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. The gesture sent a familiar jolt of exhilaration through his nervous system.

By the time they finally made it home, Natanael had arrived, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. The (now) eighteen year old had just come back from meeting his girlfriend's parents, which had apparently gone quite well. ‟How is Sam, then?″ Tim asked. ‟And when do _I_ get to meet her?″

Natanael rolled his eyes. ‟She is fine. And soon. You were busy today or you'd have been invited too.″

‟Uh huh.″

‟I am serious. I want you to meet her. You're the closest thing to a father I have.″ Tim's heart melted at Natanael's genuine smile.

Tim looked to Ziva at the kitchen island where she was setting out supplies for spaghetti. She winked at him. ‟Well, I'm sure she's lovely,″ he said to Natanael, who grinned at him happily.

Palmer strolled into the forensics lab, smile on his face. “Hey, Bobby. Got those samples for you.” He handed them over. Tim barely glanced up from the desk in the back office.

“Thanks, Pimmy.”

Palmer paused. “What did you just say. “

“I said, 'thanks, Jimmy.'”

“No, you didn't.”

“Uh, yes I did.”

“No you didn't. You said Pimmy. As in Pimmy Jalmer.”

“Pimmy who?”

“Pimmy Jalmer. The M.E.'s assistant that has sex with corpses.”

“I thought it was just a dream?”

“.........Why you little—”

Tim tried to make himself as small as possible in the other office, but couldn't miss the simmering rage in Palmer's eyes as he stormed out.

Tim sat at his desk. He wasn't busy exactly, but rather he was trying to look as if he were so that Angel would leave him alone. Matt had gone off somewhere secretive as usual, so there was no buffer to save him.

Angel was behaving herself for the moment, playing on her computer. For all intents and purposes, she was looking at cold cases, but he knew better. The reflection from the plasma behind her which showed him her computer screen was clearly reflecting... Facebook?

“Angel, get to work.”

She looked up, caught red handed. “Sorry, boss.”

The screen changed.

Tim smirked. Thank you, Tony for that genius piece of engineering.

“Yo, Amy,” Angel said. “Come take a look at this."

Amy half-stood from her desk, eyes still on the screen and fingers still typing, "Just a sec," she clicked something, and then stood up the rest of the way, making her way over to Angel. "What's up?"

Angel turned her computer screen just slightly towards Amy. "I need a fresh set of eyes. Tell me what you see there."

Amy knelt on one knee next to Angel to get a better angle on the screen. "I don't – what is that?"

"Crime scene photo, might be a kind of imprinted symbol in the blood, but it's too hard to tell."

Tim tried to get a view in the reflection, but Amy's head was blocking it, so he went back to... whatever it was he was doing.

Amy 'hmmm'ed for a moment, tilting her head this way and that, then mumbled something undetectable that made Angel's eyes widen in realization. "Oh my god, you're right." Amy nodded smugly, and went to stand. "Thanks, Probie," Angel said, and they all stopped. Amy glanced back at Angel, hopeful, but then deflated when she saw Angel's stiff posture. She slunk back to her own desk and sat down, going back to her work.

Tim sighed quietly. Angel clearly hadn't meant to call Amy 'Probie.' He glanced surreptitiously up at Angel, who was staring intently at her computer with her hands in her lap. She remained frozen for a moment, but then she jumped up and stormed off, jaw set.

That night, Tim and Ziva lay in bed together, her reading and him tapping away at his laptop. The house was quiet, soft breezes of early spring blowing through the open window. He was focusing intently on reading a report when with a huff of breath, Ziva snapped her book shut and turned to him. "Tim."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Was I breathing too loudly?"

She grinned. "No," she said. "I just wanted to tell you to stop paying rent at your apartment."

"You're telling me to? Don't people usually ask... Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"No. I am telling you to stop wasting money when you live with me already."

"I..." he took an internal catalog of the handful of times he'd been to his place this last month. It's wasn't a lot. Whenever he did to home it was just to grab a book or an item of clothing that wasn't already in Ziva's closet. "Isn't this a little fast though? It's only been a few months."

She sighed. "Timothy McGee, I have known you for well over fifteen years. We literally could not have done this any slower."

"I guess that would make sense."

So, the next day, Saturday, Tim put in his notice to the apartment complex, and he, Ziva and Natanael rented a truck to move all his stuff. Most of the items, including the bedroom set and the couch and coffee table would go into the garage for now until Sarah could come get it, and the bookshelves, which would soon take up space in Ziva's – or rather their – back den, along with his typewriter and writing desk.

Before too long, everything was out and the apartment was as bare as it had been when he'd moved in over a decade ago, and, alone for a moment, he thought of the memories he'd made in the place. In all the years he'd been there, Tony had broken in an innumerable amount of times just to annoy him, and with various companions. He'd let Shauna sleep on his couch, taken care of Matt when he caught the flu on a case, let Angel eat all of his food, co-parented Jethro the Dog with Abby until he passed of old age.

He remembered the one and only time Gibbs had visited, having come to check on him after a particularly rough case, with pizza and beer and a shoulder to lean on.

Tim felt a pair of eyes on him and turned, only to find Ziva standing in the entrance way with a knowing look on her face. "It is home," she said.

He nodded. "It was."

The poets say to never make a home out of a person. Well, it was a little too late for that.

Ziva reached out a hand, and he went to her. "Come go."

**Matt**

‟So, Amy. Star Wars or Star Trek?″ Angel asked.

Matt rolled his eyes at the question.

‟Oh, damn it to hell, Angel,″ Amy said. She had quite the mouth on her, Matt had discovered. ‟We are not having this conversation again. Stop changing the subject.″

‟What subject. It's an important question.″

‟Not as important as what you were saying before.″ Amy pointed forcefully at her with the plastic fork in her hand, which still had a piece of lettuce speared onto it. ‟You said that you really though you and Sierra had something. That's kind of a big deal.″

Angel took the opportunity to stuff her face with her barbeque sandwich, while Amy continued to glare.

The fresh spring breeze picked up a little outside the sandwich shop. It lifted the napkin off Matt's plate threatening to steal it away, but he caught it and trapped it under his drink, eyes never leaving Angel's face. They'd taken their lunch break together in order to get away from the nearly suffocating atmosphere at the office, only made worse by the constant eye sex between McGee and Ziva.

At length, Angel swallowed her food, face redder than before, and looked at Matt and Amy in trepidation. ‟You guys aren't gonna let this go, are you?″

Amy shook her head slowly, while Matt just raised an eyebrow.

‟Gah! Fine. Yeah, alright? So we've had a nice few months together, but it's not _really_ serious. She's just been kind of... dropping hints about where she'd like to live, and... I'm kind of not terrified at all.″ She took another bite of her food, eyes down. ‟I – I don't know. Maybe we might move in together.″

Amy whooped. ‟Yes! I knew you looked happier. Congrats!″

Matt chuckled and patted Angel on the shoulder. ‟Happy for you, Angel.″

She smiled shyly (something which Matt had rarely seen in the six years they'd known each other).

Matt took a sip of his tea, and asked, ‟So when do we get to meet her?″

Angel spluttered. ‟What?″

‟Yeah,″ Amy said, suddenly ecstatic. ‟Come on, we're your partners. You have to introduce us. Them's the rules.″

Angel scoffed. ‟You sound like you're twelve. And, no, it's not 'the rules.'″

Amy huffed (like a twelve year old). ‟Well, can we at least see a picture? I wanna know who's got you so wrapped up all of a sudden.″

Sighing, Angel pulled out her phone, tapped a few times at the screen, and passed it over.

If Matt hadn't had his mouth full of bread, he might have dropped his jaw in shock. Sierra was _gorgeous_. She had dark skin and wavy dark brown hair that fell past her toned shoulders. She sat on a park bench, her wide, amber colored eyes looked somewhere directly behind the camera with a smile that lit up her face. Amy swiped to the next pic, which showed Angel and Sierra, both looking at the camera with happy expressions. In the next photo, Matt couldn't help but grin as the two of them kissed, lost to the world.

The real Angel had a mix of trepidation, embarrassment, and quiet happiness on her face as she studied the table intently.

‟Oh my God!″ Amy squeaked, bouncing a little in her seat as she continued looking at the pictures. ‟Angel, she's beautiful. You have to let us meet her.″

Angel just shoved the rest of her sandwich into her mouth, and proceeded to ignore them both for the rest of the meal.

Back at HQ, things were slow. Still between cases, it was paperwork, paperwork, and – what was that? More paperwork. Matt submitted his final report to McGee (absent at the moment) and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He looked over to see Angel drooling onto her desk as she slept. Sighing, he hurtled a dime from his pocket in her direction. The result was wild flailing and Angel falling out of her chair.

Amy didn't even look up from where she was furiously typing while simultaneously trying to maneuver the straw from her soda toward her lips. Her straight, red hair was falling out of it's band and her eyes were wide open as she worked, making her look a little deranged.

The dime came flying back in an uncoordinated throw, and hit the wall behind him. Angel mouthed 'You suck' at him, and stalked off to the bathroom.

Matt let one side of his mouth turn up in a grin, a pleasant feeling bubbling in his belly at the memory of Shauna having done a similar thing to Angel not too long ago. The result had been much more painful on both their parts, of course.

He went to lean back in his chair, but froze when he looked toward the window. His heart stuttered in his chest as he gazed directly into the dark eyes of Shauna St. Clair. She smiled at him, but then he blinked and she was gone.

Matt gaped for a moment, and then looked around the bullpen to see if anybody else had just seen what he'd seen. Save for a few people on the fringes of the office, Amy was the only one within range. He must have made some kind noise, because she was staring at him in concern.

‟Matt?″ she asked, moving her fingers away from her keyboard. ‟What's wrong?″

He shook his head in awe and disbelief. ‟I...″ he tried, but couldn't finish. _What the hell_? Had he just seen a ghost? Or was he hallucinating? She'd been right there. He turned back to the window and stared, as if maybe she'd be back, and he could tell himself he wasn't going crazy. ‟What...″ he said.

He heard Amy stand from her desk. ‟Matt? Are you - ″

“Dead Marine in the Potomac. Grab your gear.” McGee swooped in and grabbed his bag from behind his desk. “Move it, let's go!” He swept off to the stairs, leaving them in his wake.

“Matt?” Amy stood next to his desk, backpack slung over her shoulder.

Matt looked up at Amy, her green eyes fraught with concern. He glanced back over to the window, hopeful... But there was nothing there. “Yes. Sorry. I'm fine. Just thinking.”

Amy's eyes narrowed, studying him. “Okay. Just... you know you can tell me if something's wrong. I—I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I like to think that we're friends. Not just co-workers.”

Matt sighed, finally standing himself, picking up his stuff. “We are friends, Amy. It's just...” Here, he didn't know what to say. She was still so new. The inside jokes, the history of the team, she just didn't get it. And it was at the same time no ones' and everyones' fault. They'd let her join the team, but they'd never let her in. “I'm sorry. Tell you what, let's get something to eat and we'll talk.” His phone exploded with sound. _McGee_. “After work.”

She seem genuinely touched. Smiling, she said, “Okay.”

'After work' turned into the next day. The team stayed busy all night, looking at important evidence. The dead Marine turned into searching for his missing wife, later found tied up in the trunk of her own car, having tried to defend herself and her recently back from tour husband.

And so there they were at 7 o'clock in the morning, sitting in a 24 hour diner, him and Amy.

He didn't quite know where to start.

He watched as she finished her eggs, slathered in an unnatural amount of ketchup. Amy was a good person, anybody could tell that. And a good cop. She cared about people, even to a fault. Shauna did that. Too trusting. Too young. Too typical of his life that Amy and Shauna weren't the only ones he'd known like that.

“I was in the CIA,” he began. Amy looked up.

“I know,” she said, wiping her mouth and pushing her plate to the side. “That's all I know though. Angel told me.”

He nodded. “I was 24. Only been there three years, on assignment in Afghanistan. There were these two people at the station that I worked with the most. Erin and James.”

Amy raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, those are their real names.”

She laughed.

“They were good people. And we were very close. As in, on first name terms with each other's parents, siblings and pets. We always got leave together, and we kind of just picked a family to stay with. We were still young enough to do that. All our families thought we were just roommates living abroad, 'cause undercovers can't tell anybody what they're doing. As far as they knew we were low-level data analysts for some company in France. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, kept his eyes to the table. “Eleven months out of the year, we were all each other had. Then... They were sent on a mission without me. Not that uncommon. Very secret, 'if you get captured you'll be disavowed and no rescue efforts will be made' kind of bullshit. Well... they didn't get caught. They were killed immediately. A spy in the CIA, though nobody ever figured out who it was, supposedly leaked the mission details to the group they were infiltrating. And nobody cared. I fought and I fought, but no one listened. Said that it was completely dark, off the books, told me to forget. They told me that my _country_ needed me to forget. I stayed for a while, as long as I could, but eventually I just couldn't take it anymore. I came to NCIS, I got close to people again, and then...”

When Matt looked up again, Amy's eyes were filled with tears. “Matt... I –”

He held up a hand. “I just wanted to tell you so that you know why I have trouble opening up to people. Because there's only so long you can shut down your emotions for the greater good before you find you just can't stop. I don't mean to do it, but I'm getting better, I think.”

“So... No one knows? McGee? Angel?”

“Well... no. I never told anybody that.”

“I'm so sorry that happened to the people you cared about. And I'm sorry about Shauna. She seems like a wonderful person.”

“She was.”

“Tell me about her? Please?”


	18. The World I Know

Chapter 18: The World I Know

The World I Know – Collective Soul

  
  


_Laugh when you can,  
apologize when you should,   
and let go of what you can't change.  
Life's too short to be anything... but happy._

  
  


_Summer_

**Matt**

"Okay," McGee said to Matt and Angel as they checked their clips. Amy was standing off to the side of the building with an infrared scanner, looking at the heat signatures of the suspects inside. "Angel, I want you to take point in front with Amy. You two'll lead into the building and take out the guards they're sure to have. Do it quietly – I don't want the suspects scared and firing as soon as we open the doors." He turned to Matt. "When they've done that, you'll take the LEOs in and make the arrests. I'll be out here, making sure nobody tries to sneak out the back. You got it?"

"Got it," they parroted.

It was raining, the sky a moody gray and the sidewalk slick. Matt swiped a hand across his forehead to try and relieve the water dripping into his eyes as he and Angel went to brief Amy.

Angel asked, "What's it looking like in there?"

"Twenty to twenty-five in attendance. It's hard to tell 'cause the heat signatures are smudging together. And looks like three guards, all at different posts. They may have radios."

Angel nodded seriously. "Okay, so here's the plan. Matt and I," she indicated them with her thumb, "are gonna take out the guards one at a time."

Matt raised an eyebrow at her but she ignored him.

"Then after that's done, you're going to take the cops and charge the field. Got it?"

"Got it," Amy replied. "Where's McGee?"

"Shooting gallery, outside."

"Okay, so are we ready?" Amy asked, grinning excitedly up at Matt.

He could do nothing but nod, as Amy went off to join the local police. "Ange?" he began, but she was already leaving him behind, heading to get into position.

He fell in behind her, thoughtful. He knew what she was doing, of course. Being overprotective was Angel's weird way of showing that she cared. It wasn't that she thought Amy incapable of taking out the guards, but rather, she was trying to keep her safe by keeping her out of danger.

He kept quiet as they took their places outside the front door. He'd bug her about it later.

Cocking her gun, Angel said. ‟Now let us go forth and kick much ass.″

  
  


**Amy**

Amy noted that Angel's day did not start off well, and it continued to get worse as time wore on. It began by her getting puked on by a criminal (who also happened to be naked and high off his ass) in the NCIS parking lot

Amy had laughed, until Angel ordered her to drag the guy inside while Matt hosed her off in the garage. When Amy finally make it back to them, Angel was dripping wet and being blow dried by an overexcited Matt and Bobby with leaf blowers.

They didn't even have time to finish before McGee had called them to a crime scene after which the main suspect led them in a high speed chase along the boardwalk drive, Amy holding onto Angel's still damp waist for dear life on the back of the motorcycle they'd commandeered. "God, please help me!" Amy screamed as they hit an incline and ramped over a stack of wooden pallets.

The suspect finally crashed into a wall and they managed to get him in handcuffs... right before a large oil drum on the roof tipped over and spilled it's contents right onto Angel's head.

She stood frozen for only a moment (while Amy and the suspect stared in slack-jawed horror) before she started screaming profanities and complaining how it would take days to get the crap out of her hair. She even went so far as to go and try to kick the wall, however, her slick foot slipped out from beneath her. She busted her ass on the wood paneling and, in the mess, rolled right over the edge of the boardwalk and fell with a splash into the ocean.

"Angel!" Amy screamed, dragging the suspect over to the guardrail. He came willingly, too shocked at the spectacle. After only a second, Angel's sputtering head popped above the water. As soon as Amy was able to determine that she was probably okay, she cuffed the suspect to the rail and went to help Angel out of the water.

This was how they wound up sitting in the back of an ambulance wrapped in blankets, lights flashing all around them. McGee and Matt were questioning the suspect in front of a squad car, but kept glancing over at them in concern.

Angel, for her part, after all the screaming she had done earlier, seemed pretty okay with the days events. Now that Amy looked closer, in fact, she could see a stupid little grin growing wider by the moment. "What the hell are you smiling about?" Amy asked, incredulous. "You have just had the worst day. There is oil and seaweed still in your hair, you're still wearing the puke shirt from this morning, and you were this close," she held two fingers a couple millimeters apart, "to getting knocked out by your fall and drowning for your trouble. You've lost it, haven't you?"

With lips still upturned in a grin, Angel shook her head. "I don't care."

Amy gaped. "You don't care?"

She backtracked. "I mean — this sucks, obviously. But... well, for one, I've been much much worse off than this, believe me." Amy did believe her. "And two..." Angel smiled much wider than before. "It's just a day. And this day will end, and I'll get to go home and fall asleep next to the most wonderful person I've ever met." She paused to wrap the blanket tighter around herself. "So this," she said, gesturing with a hand to the area at large and shrugging, "I don't care."

  
  


  
  


**Angel**

"What do we do? He's just been sitting there for like an hour," Amy said, from where she was sitting behind Angel's desk.

Angel stood slightly to peek over the divider to Johnathan's desk. He wasn't even looking at the computer screen, rather he was staring at the edge of Ziva's desk with a blank look. He was alone in Ziva's division of the bullpen. "I mean, I don't blame him," Angel replied. "The first one's always the hardest. Right Matt?"

Matt barely glanced up from the file he was reading, and grunted the affirmative.

Amy whispered, "I can't believe Ziva just sent him back."

"I can. They already have three other bodies to deal with, not even including the one that Johnathan shot. He'd just be in the way at the scene."

"Yeah, and they'll be hours finishing up."

"One of us should go and talk to him. Heaven knows what's going on in his mind right now." Amy went to stand, but Angel held her back.

"No," Angel said. "I didn't want to talk to anybody when I shot my first perp."

"And look how well-balanced you are."

Angel was offended. "That's ridiculous. I'm well-balanced."

"In a pig's eye."

"Excuse me, Travis? I'll have you know I come from a big family of very well-balanced and reasonable people."

"People like your uncle Pedro who was caught running a chop shop? Or the second cousin twice removed you told me about who owns an apocalypse prepper compound in the Mojave desert?"

Angel twisted her chair to face Amy. "Hey, Carolyn is a very nice lady. She even helped us out during a case a few years back."

"She wears a moo-moo 24/7 and doesn't hasn't left her bunker in years."

"How the hell do you know that?" Angel asked.

She shrugged. "Matt told me."

Angel let out an overly dramatic gasp. "Matthew Death-wish Jericho, I told you that in the strict — Hey, where'd he go?" She had looked over to berate him, but his chair was empty.

"Where's Johnathan?" Amy asked, perplexed. "He was just there."

Angel stood. "Did you hear them leave?"

"No, I was talking to you."

"But where..." Angel had a feeling what had happened. "Come on," she said and Amy followed.

"Angel?"

"I'll go high, you go low."

"What?"

Angel sighed exasperatedly. "Just do it, Travis."

"Okay, but where are we going?"

"Break room."

Quietly, they crept up and peaked around the corner toward the vending machines. There they saw both men sitting across from each other at a table speaking in hushed tones, two cups of coffee between them. Johnathan appeared to be trying not to cry and Matt had a hand on the other's shoulder.

Matt said something that neither woman could hear and Johnathan nodded and took a calming breath.

A fierce pride bubbled up in Angel's chest, and Angel nudged Amy away and back to work. "Let's go. Big Brother Mattie's got it covered."

  
  



	19. Be Still

Chapter Nineteen: Be Still

Be Still – The Fray

  
_"If you forget the way to go_

_And lose where you came from_

_If no one else is standing beside you_

_Be still and know I am._

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_Be still and know I am."_

_September_

**McGee**

He realized it as he was driving to work that morning. The light at the lonely intersection turned green and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

_It's been a year._

A year and thirteen days to be exact.

He immediately felt like crying, and only the cool breeze from the open window kept him from it. It bolstered his senses and reminded him that he was driving and that the world was not still in mourning.

He drove on.

How could he have not noticed? It seemed like he'd seen Shauna only yesterday. Young, vibrant, alive. She was so suddenly swept from their lives, how could it have already been a _year_? He thought back, and realized that he hadn't thought of her in... a week. Maybe more?

It reminded him of when Kate died. Tim had only known her for a little less time than he had known Shauna, and when Kate had died he thought about it constantly, replaying all the things that she'd ever said to him and wishing they'd had more time. But eventually, he thought of her less, and he would go days or even weeks without seeing anything that reminded him of her. And that hurt, but he understood even over all those years ago that it was just how life moved on.

But he never expected the same thing when it came to Shauna. He thought of her like a daughter, it just came so naturally to the both of them to be that way with each other. To think that he'd forgotten about her for even a second was painful, and to realize that the date of her passing had come and gone and he hadn't even noticed. Had Angel noticed? Had Matt? It was likely that they did, though the two of them weren't really ones for outwardly dealing with their emotions, and would probably not want to talk about it even if they were asked.

Still though, it didn't feel right.

Gibbs' Rule #8: Never take anything for granted. He may not have remembered the date, but he would never forget her or what she meant to him or the team. Watching Amy sit in Shauna's old desk, the one he first occupied, it was sad. But in the little over ten months that Amy had been there, she had grown into it. He could tell that she knew the significance of her spot in the bullpen and the gaping void she was meant to be filling, and it was something he couldn't change. But he vowed to make certain that she knew how important she was to him, he never wanted Amy to doubt that.

**Amy**

The view rising above the haphazard slew of ramshackle houses and run-down apartment buildings was nothing short of stunning. The first streaks of a bright, golden pink light shone across the sky just beginning to awaken with the dawn. A few crickets chirped in the grass, the morning dew still clinging to it and dripping from the leaves of the trees.

Amy Travis crept forward in the disappearing darkness, pulling her jacket closer around her body as a light breeze, cool and moist, whispered on her face and sent a chill down her spine. Her boots slipped a little on the wet grass, but she caught herself before she could fall. That would have been _very_ unladylike. She looked around her, checking to make sure that she was alone. She loved being up this early. She used to work the night shift as a patrol cop, and when she would get off work, she would sit outside the station and watch as the sun came up.

The street was empty and almost actually peaceful, save for engines and a siren on the nearby freeway. It was the stillness that she loved. The world completely at ease with itself, and oblivious to the trials and sorrows of the people who called it home.

She did another quick check of her surroundings, and then tiptoed her way a couple houses down to her neighbors' front porch. On the outside, they were a kindly elderly couple, but Amy knew that on the inside, they were complete rotten apples. They were vain and proud, and repeatedly called animal control when the man's dog from across the street, a sweet little thing that wouldn't hurt a fly, managed to loose himself from his chain.

 _It's always darkest before the dawn,_ she remembered a quote of which her grandfather was always rather fond of, _so if you're going to steal your neighbors' newspaper, that's the time to do it._

Silent as a ghost, she leaned down, swiped the paper and dashed off, a trill of adrenaline surging through her veins. She knew it was stupid, getting excited committing such petty theft, not to mention morally wrong, considering her position, but, truth be told... they deserved it.

As she made her way back to her own driveway to get into her car, she didn't notice the shadow of another person overtake her own. There was a sudden pain on her temple and then everything went black.

_**McGee** _

Matt was already at his desk when Tim arrived at the office, scrolling through the news on his computer. Tim was a little early. He had wanted to catch up on his pile of reports before they caught another case and the director sent him yet another passive aggressive email about "priorities" and "setting a good example."

While Tim sorted through the files on his desk, Angel bustled in, arms full of old shoe boxes and a large leather bound book that she dumped unceremoniously on top of her desk. She turned to look at him and Matt expectantly.

When they were not forthcoming, she sighed. "I suppose you aren't going to ask, so I'm going to go ahead and tell you what the boxes are about." She picked up the book, which when she opened it, revealed itself to be about halfway filled with pictures. "I'm making a photo album. And I want you all," she began distributing the shoe boxes onto Tim's, Matt's, and Amy's desks, "to help me find the best pictures."

Sarah, who was suddenly leaning over the divider, asked, "Who on earth prints out pictures anymore? Those boxes look like you've had them for a while."

"I, my dear friend, have always printed pictures. My mother was the one who started it and I tend to agree with her that your memories are best held in your hands."

"Ooh!" Palmer exclaimed, he and Bobby entering Ziva's side of the bullpen with what looked like a presentation for her case. "I _love_ photo albums. Me and Breena hope to have a full shelf of them by the time we're old and gray."

"Where's Agent David?" Bobby asked of the group. "She wanted us to have the case notes ready first thing in the morning."

"She and I left at the same time this morning," Tim said. "Which usually means – "

"That I am already here." Ziva said descending the steps from the director's office.

Tim couldn't stop the way his heart sped up when she stopped by his desk to give him a kiss on the cheek before heading over for the update, which Tim paid little attention to.

Angel was looking through a box on her own desk, not paying much attention to anything else. Tim let her be, he couldn't fault her for wanting to keep her memories a little closer.

"Where's Amy?" Matt asked.

"Late," Angel quipped, not looking up. "Again, I'm sure. _It's becoming a habit_..." she repeated the same debate she and Amy had had a few days prior.

Tim was about to tell her to drop it when Ziva called for him. She beckoned him around to her desk. "Could you find me a list of the last people to view this website. I would ask Johnathan but he's in the field with Maxine."

Tim sat down and began typing, "Anytime. You know all you have to do," keystroke, "is," keystroke, "ask," final keystroke, and the information popped up on the plasma. He glanced over when his desk phone began ringing, but Angel was already on her way to answer it. Palmer was clapping him on the back.

"That's gotta be a record, Tim," Palmer said. "That couldn't have been more than ten seconds."

"Actually the record's six seconds, but..."

"Oh," Ziva chided him, nudging his shoulder with an elbow, "Well, I suppose it is early in the day, and after a long night."

Tim blushed.

"Well well well," Bobby began, but then froze, looking at Angel.

Tim spun around, only to be met with Angel, face pale and stricken with horror. "Ange, what—"

She quickly placed the phone on speaker.

Amy's voice was on the phone, but it was mechanical, like she was under duress and being forced to read from a prompt.

"— _Covington Wholesale warehouse in Anacostia. Come and watch the fireworks. This – this is your fault Special Agent McGee. It's your turn..._ " she paused, but then the sound of an impact and a cry of pain sounded over the speakers, making everybody flinch, " _it's your turn to watch helpless as your teammate dies at the hands of a monster. You have one hour._ " The line went dead.

Nobody moved for a second, but then everything happened at once.

Matt jumped up, gripping Angel's arm in a vice, pulling her out of her shock. "What was the first part of the message? What else did she say?"

Angel shook her head to clear it. "She said, 'Special Agent McGee, this is for your apathy, and your indecency in the line of duty. The punishment for your crimes will take place at the loading dock of Covington Wholesale...'" She looked into Tim's eyes. "Someone has Amy, boss. We have to—"

He nodded. "Right, everybody! Let's go." In a flurry of movement, he and his team, along with Ziva and Sarah all grabbed their gear and took off.

Bobby called out that he would send the coordinates to their phones.

At first glance, nothing about the scene struck him as terribly wrong. The car skidded to a halt in the gravel behind the warehouse, and they all jumped out and ran to the concrete platform of the loading dock where Amy sat on a wooden crate. The sense of foreboding really sank in, when Amy held up a shaky hand as they approached and, in her own voice this time, said "Stop where you are."

"Amy!" Angel cried, "What happened? Are you okay?"

Tear streaks were washed anew on her face as she shook her head. Slowly and carefully, she reached for the zipper of her jacket and pulled it down far enough to expose a few wires.

"Don't!" Matt commanded. He approached her carefully and unzipped the jacket himself, revealing wires and blasting caps and enough C4 to blow up a house.

Ziva turned to Sarah. "Call the bomb squad."

"No," Matt said without looking away. "There's only twenty minutes on the timer, and you never know if they could have set it to go off sooner."

"Call them anyway," Ziva said and Sarah stepped back toward the car.

"Can you do this, Matt?" Tim questioned.

"I'm doing it."

"N-no. He said... he said if you touch it, it would blow." Amy stuttered.

"Amy," Angel said, as she, Ziva and Tim climbed the stairs to the platform. "Amy, it's going to be okay. Just breathe."

Amy tried to take a calming breath, but a few hiccuppy sobs broke through. Shakily, she nodded.

"Matt knows what he's doing."

"O-okay."

Tim tried to clamp down on the sheer terror that had seized his heart. _Not this again._ "Amy," he said, kneeling down beside her. "I need you to focus, okay. Can you do that?"

She nodded again, a little stronger this time.

"The person who kidnapped you. Did you see his face? Did you recognize them."

"N-no. He – he wore a mask. He was white, American accent, southern. Maybe 40 or 50 years old."

"Okay. Tell me what happened."

"I – um – I was about to get in my car... to go to work. That's all I remember. Then I woke up here, and he made me read that... And..." she gestured shakily at her chest. Matt was still studying the wires, face hard with anger.

Tim noticed a bit of blood along her jaw and reached to push Amy's hair back from the side of her head, revealing a sluggishly bleeding cut in her hairline. His gut clenched, and he grasped her hand. "Good, Amy. You're doing great. Did he say anything else?"

"Just that you – uhmm – you let his son die. Over in Iraq. He said you didn't do anything when he was capture by the extremists." Amy's eyes were so scared when she looked into his, he had to swallow back his own fear. "I'm gonna – I'm gonna die, aren't I?"

"Amy, no. You're not. We're gonna save you, do you hear me?"

Amy swallowed thickly, but didn't answer him. "How much time is left?"

Tim looked down. "Sixteen minutes. Plenty of time," he said. Tim raised his eyes to Ziva. He

knew exactly who had done this, and he knew that Ziva did too.

Ziva nodded and took off.

"Where's sh-she going?"

"She going to find who kidnapped you and we're going to make them pay," Tim assured her. "Matt? What do you think?" he asked gently.

"It's complex," Matt answered. "But I can do it. Angel."

"Yes?" she said immediately. "What do you need?"

"First aid kid from the car. A syringe."

Angel was off like a shot.

"Okay, Ames, listen up," Matt said, lifting her chin to look her in the eye. "As soon as I start this, the timer's going to go to one minute," Amy gasped, squeezing Tim's fingers. Matt continued, "But it's going to be okay. Hey," he said, not letting her look away, "I promise."

She nodded shakily.

Angel returned with the bag, and dug through it until she found the emergency insulin kit and broke the syringe out of it's packaging, passing it to Matt.

"Ange," Tim said, "you should go."

"What!?" she screeched. "Like hell! I'm not going anywhere."

Amy said, "You – you should both go. Boss. Angel. Please – if this doesn't work, I don't want you hurt too."

Angel was indignant. "Tough, Probie!" And if Tim was shocked to hear Angel call Amy 'Probie', it was nothing compared to what Amy how Amy's eyes widened in surprise. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Amy slowly smiled, eyes soft. "You called me Probie."

"Yeah, well," Angel knelt down and took Amy's other hand. "Get used to it."

Steeling himself, Tim turned to Matt. "Alright, what do we do?"

Matt swallowed. "I'm gonna disrupt the trigger mechanism, which will cause the timer to speed up, and after that, it's just a simple matter of disengaging the blasting caps from the fuses."

"Right," Tim said. "Easy peasy."

Tim glanced around them. Ziva was standing over by the car with Sarah, both of them on their phones. Ziva was shouting at somebody, throwing a few choice words in here and there and looking royally pissed off. Sirens could be heard in the distance, the local LEOs and the bomb squad would be on their way by now. He thought of the way Ziva was when he'd first known her, all wild hair and fierce eyes, but always an underlying pain. And so young. Why is it always the youngest ones who are hurt the most by the vicious? Why always the kindest? Why Ziva? Why Amy? Why Shauna?

It was Tony that had said it, and it had always stuck with him. "This is life, calling collect, saying 'I'm short. Appreciate me.'" Suddenly, Ziva stopped shouting and cursing, and met his eyes. She must have caught something in his gaze, because she took a deep breath and nodded. It was all that Tim needed.

Matt was watching him, waiting for permission. Tim nodded once. "Do it," he said.

Amy gripped his hand tighter, shutting her eyes. Angel sucked in a breath and held it.

Matt filled the syringe with air and stuck it carefully into a tiny plastic box on the back of the timer. Immediately, the timer changed to 1:00 and began to count down, emitting a counting beep. After ten seconds, the beeping sped up, but Matt was already moving, using his knife to pop off the fuses and cut the wires. The beeping sped up again, gaining in pitch all the time.

"Almost, almost..." Matt said through clenched teeth. "And one more..." He cut the last wire and the timer stopped at twenty-eight seconds.

As one, the team let out a sigh of relief.

Breathily, Amy said. "Somebody get this thing off of me. Right now."

Matt quickly unplugged the wires and unzipped the zipper holding the vest together, and he and Angel helped her pull it off.

As soon as she was free Amy fell into Tim's arms. She cried, burying her face in his chest.

Sarah came and got the vest from Angel and went to meet the bomb squad van where it was just arriving on the scene, allowing Angel and Matt to return. Without giving it a second thought, Tim opened his arms. Both Angel and Matt accepted the group hug, kneeling down and wrapping each other up, Amy in the middle, protected and safe.

Tim faced skyward, tears falling, and he gave thanks that his team was whole and alive and right here in his arms.


	20. Epilogue

Chapter 20: Epilogue

"You know," Tim said. "Back when I started this book, I wouldn't have had any idea how to finish it properly."

Ziva smiled, running a finger across the top of the stack of paper on edge of the desk. It was dark in the squad room, but the desk lamp lit up the top sheet. It read: Deep Six: The Continuing Adventures of L.J. Tibbs – The Last Case. "I did always say that Tommy and Lisa were terrible for each other. I prefer the way you ended it."

"...but..."

"But, if you ever write about me without my permission again, I will throw your typewriter off the top of this building and smash it into a million tiny little pieces of which you will never find all, no matter how hard you look."

"Fair enough."

Tim gathered up the pages and placed them into a large manila folder, addressed to his publisher, and left it in his outbox for the mail courier to pick up in the morning.

"I do not think that Vance would approve of you using the agency's postage to send out your story," Ziva said.

Tim shrugged. "It certainly wouldn't be the first time."

Ziva laughed. Tim drank in the sound. "You are such a dunce, Timothy McGee."

With a smirk, Tim wrapped an arm around her waist a drew her in for a long kiss. "And you are such a romantic, Ziva David. I always knew you liked my writing."

She hit his arm and her let go.

"Shall we?" he asked, stretching out an arm in invitation.

She sighed in faux-irritation, but then gave him a quick smile. "Let's go home."

They both gathered their things and headed for the elevator. The ding was loud in the nighttime hush that had taken over the office.

"Although," Tim said, suddenly struck with a thought, "the next book could be about your team." He held his hands in front of him, as if presenting the possibility in grandeur. "Think about it. Special Agent Lisa and her adventures in Paris. I could – "

Ziva slapped the back of his head. "Do not even think about it," she said as the elevator doors closed.

_**The end** _


End file.
